A Clean Slate
by Love Out Of Lust
Summary: It's been two weeks since Ste was sacked from Chez Chez. He tries to get a new job and move on from Brendan. Meanwhile, Mr Brady himself is attempting to forget all about Ste with the help of some distractions...
1. Chapter 1 Ste

It has been two weeks, fourteen days and three hundred and thirty six hours since I have been sacked from Chez Chez. I have just about resisted the urge to count the minutes and seconds too. Maths has never exactly been my strong point, but yet my head is still full of numbers.

A constant reminder of the exact time I had spent away from Brendan Brady.

Ever since Brendan had told me to leave, there's been no contact. Nothing. Not even a glance in the village. I'm sure I'm being paranoid. A man like Brendan doesn't avoid people, people avoid him. But in a place this small, I can't help but think that he's been dodging me.

The day after Amy picked up my wages for me, I finally couldn't keep it in any longer.

"What was he like?"

I could see that Amy didn't want to talk about it. As usual when it comes to discussing a certain moustached Irishman, she suddenly became uncharacteristically quiet.

"Ames?"

I had to know.

"What do you think he was like, Ste? He was the same as always. He was...Brendan."

It's always something of a sore subject when it comes to me and her. I can tell that she wants to shake me at times for still giving a damn about what Brendan's feeling.

Yet I still couldn't help but push it.

"But did he...you know...say anything?"

Amy gave me a look, which said that she knew exactly what I was asking.

"No. He didn't say anything about you."

Oh. Right. Well...good. That's good. I mean, it's what I expected. It's not like Brendan's going to crack the milk and cookies out and have a heart to heart with my ex. He's probably spoken less than ten sentences to her in his life. Two, if you exclude all the times he's spent threatening her.

I remember thinking all of this. But my face must have been telling another story.

"Ste.'"

Amy laid a hand on my shoulder, knowing that I needed it without me having to say a word.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. Not as if I'm bothered, is it?"

She smiled at me knowingly. I guess I don't have my macho I'm-so-strong act down quite yet. I'll have to work on that.

She said some other stuff after that. Her usual speech about how I'll be so much better off without him. I feel like we've been having this conversation on repeat for years now. I tend to tune it out by now, because I find that it's like some riddle with no meaning. The words make sense - stay away from Brendan Brady. But I can't use them. They're worthless to me.

"...He says he's feeling fantastic -"

I snapped back out of it then. Suddenly, something that I could register again,

"What? Brendan's feeling fantastic?"

"Well, that's what he said."

Amy looked like she believed these words of his about as much as she believes in me and him.

I think that's why I snapped. Not outwardly or anything. Amy didn't even notice. She went on with the day as usual, playing with Leah and Lucas. But inside, something clicked for me. Brendan fucking Brady was fucking fantastic. And I felt like screaming. Like punching something. Like tearing my eyes out. Because there I was,wanting to know if he was okay, if he felt guilty for the way he had treated me. And it turned out he was doing just fine. Better than fine.

And I really believed he was. Because Brendan's not exactly the type of guy who sings about the joys of life and how great the world is. So for him to actually say he was doing great...well, who's to say he wasn't?

And then my mind went there. Yes, there. To that place where I'd be resisting going for the past twenty four hours. Brendan, feeling great. Brendan, feeling great whilst kissing some guy. Shagging some guy. Some random guy, who doesn't know him like I do. Who doesn't know that he chews gum like people breathe air. Who doesn't know that sometimes, when it's two o'clock in the morning and he's let his guard down, he likes his palm to be stroked. He'd laugh, this guy, looking at a man like Brendan, and imaging him enjoying something so...innocent. And I'd hate for him to imagine, to know. Only I should know.

It was then that I decided. I wasn't going to beg for my job back. Amy getting my wages didn't really mean anything. I knew it would probably be three days, four days tops before I'd be back at the club, knocking at his office door, seeing if we could work something out. Because he's like a magnet, pulling me back to him.

I might have been fine, living that life. But then Amy said those words to me, knocking down all those walls. How can I crawl back to him, knowing that he's been with someone else? The thing with Macca made me sick to my stomach when I found out, and that was before me and Brendan had even kissed. I was with Noah because Brendan didn't want me...not in the right way, anyway. But chose someone else over him, when he's offering me the world? Never. So how can he be with someone else when I'm offering him the same thing?

So here I am. Counting the days since I lost my job, since I saw him. I don't think I've ever felt so...strange. My entire body is aware of him. That's he's alive. And I don't know how that's even possible. Out of sight, out of mind, right? But he's in me, in the core of me. Unshakeable.

I wake with my arm around the pillow, around where his body should be. I find myself licking my lips, like all those times in the past when the anticipation was building for him to kiss me. I plan comebacks in my mind for him, for his teasing. He's invaded every part of my life, and yet it seems like I've barely touched any part of his.

Maybe this is finally my chance. My ticket out. Perhaps this is what it takes for us to make the break. To hurt each other so much that in the end, we have no choice. We have to let go.

I know that if I ever stand a chance of surviving without him, I have to find a new job. Something secure, which will keep me from landing on his doorstep in the middle of the night. The world - or rather, Tony Hutchinson - must have known that Brendan was going to be an asshole in record time, because he's put the perfect opportunity right into my lap.

A new coffee shop.

Okay, so it's not exactly classy. But then again, neither was Il Nosh. And no offense to Chez, but it wasn't going to win any awards anytime soon.

I've looked in the window of Tony's new place to see if there are any vacancies for a week now - ever since I realised that having a cut salary is infinitely better than Amy reminding me that if I don't find work soon, we'll have to go and live in Manchester with her dad Mike. That got me moving on the job front pretty fast. For reasons less to do with Manchester, and more to do with Mike. Amy says that me and her working side by side wasn't exactly what she wanted, but she came round to the idea. Which is why I'm here now, in front of an overdecorated countertop, advertising lots of things with the word 'frap' in front of them.

"Get Tony for me, won't you Amy?"

Amy looks like she's wrestling with the coffee machine. And losing. Badly.

"Now's not really a good time -"

"Amy, I'm not going to move in with your dad."

"So?"

"So, there's only one more alternative. You, me and the kids are out on the streets by next month begging for cash."

She rolls her eyes, but the message sticks.

"Tony!"

I'm surprised the glass of the coffee machine doesn't break from her pitch.

"What?"

Ah. There he is. My old boss. No, not that one. The other one. The sane one. You know, the one who I haven't had sex with?

"Hi Tony."

"You alright, Ste? Come to see the missus?"

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Got a minute?"

Tony beckons past the horde of customers who have now descended on Amy, round to the kitchens.

Phase one is now complete. I have got him to agree to speak to me. Now I just have to actually work out what to say. Over a year of steady employment at Chez Chez hasn't exactly left me with a lot of confidence in job interviews. Especially when I got my last job through blackmailing the boss.

"So, what can I do for you, Ste?"

Here goes nothing.

"I was wondering if you had any vacancies going?"

His face drops. I think he had it in his mind that this would be less of a me-begging-for-work conversation, and more of a -thanks-for-employing-Amy catch up.

"Ste, I've just hired about four people -"

"Who?"

"Well, excluding Amy, I've got two girls who've worked in cafes for years, Jono -"

"Jono?" Is he serious? "That lad from the sixth form?"

"You've met him?"

"I've seen him in here. I thought he was one of the customers. No offense to him Tone, but the lad couldn't walk in a straight line with a pair of drinks if it killed him."

"Now, Ste -"

"Look, I know Amy's working here too. But it wouldn't be awkward in any way. You know how well me and her get on."

He looks like he'd rather be anywhere but here. He may like to make out that he's the next Alan Sugar in the making, but turning people down is not Tony's strong point.

"I really wish I could help you, but..."

He turns to leave. Time to pull out the big guns.

"Come on Tone, it would be like Il Nosh all over again."

He stops. Any mention of his former restaurant, burned to the ground by his own flesh and blood, and he turns to putty.

"What do you mean?"

He's suddenly interested. I've got him.

"You and me, back together again. You as the chef, me helping you out. You can't tell me that that Jono kid knows how to make a burger like I do."

"Well, we are trying to expand into meals here."

I can see the pound signs in his eyes. He's dreaming of Il Nosh, part II.

"Wait a second." The pound signs vanish. "What happened to you working in Chez Chez?"

I feel my stomach tighten. I remind myself to breath, in and out, as lightly as possible, so he won't notice a thing.

"It was time to move on."

I'm surprised I even manage to give him an answer, the way my heart's hammering.

"I don't know, Ste. If you've left the club to come here, then Brendan's not going to be very happy with me poaching his staff."

The mention of his name hurts me more than even I could have imagined.

"Brendan" I force myself to say it "Doesn't scare me. The truth is, he let me go."

Admitting this to another person is humiliating. Amy was different. I couldn't hide something like that from her. But I've worked hard over the years for people like Tony to only ever see me at my best.

"Let you go? But I thought you and Brendan were..."

I look at him. He closes his mouth. I hope he sees the wordless thanks written across my face.

"The job's yours, Ste."

"What?"

"You can start today, if you like. Someone's called in sick."

"Jono?" I guess.

He stops himself from laughing.

'Jono."

I forgot how much I really do like Tony Hutchinson.

"Thank you. You won't regret this."

"I know I won't,"

We go back round to the front, where Amy looks about five years older than the last time I saw her.

"Got the job?"

I grin at her.

"Here."

She chucks me an apron.

"I could really use a hand with this lot."

I look at the line of customers, mostly students in their lunch breaks. Most of them I've never spoken two words to. They don't know anything about me or my past.

This is perfect. A clean slate.

I get to work.


	2. Chapter 2 Brendan

It's three o'clock in the morning, and he won't wake up. I've tried talking in his ear, prodding him in the stomach. I even resorted to throwing pencils at his head. I'd be worried the guy's dead if it wasn't for the fact that he's the worst snorer I've ever heard in my life.

I want to shout at him, to throw him off the bed, to tell him to get the fuck out, if it wasn't for Cheryl's presence a few doors down. Okay, so my sister knows that I fuck men. But she doesn't need to be reminded if of it any more times than I can help. She came into the flat at one, when I was already done with him. He lay, spent on the bed, panting like he'd just survived a hurricane. He's easily impressed. I hadn't even really tried.

Sure, I'd gone through the usual motions. Teased him, my mouth licking around his cock for so long that he began to beg to get what he wanted. Then one finger, two fingers in him until he held my cock in his hands, letting me know in no uncertain terms that this is what he really wanted. And then I buried myself so far in him that he couldn't speak at all. No one could accuse me of negligence, not in that department, that's for sure.

Every night, a different nameless face, the same story. It feels like coming home, back to who I used to be. It's the most natural fucking thing in the world to me.

I go to a club. Not Chez Chez of course - not since that time weeks ago now - find out who's looking at me, giving me the once over. And there's always someone. They're not hard to find.

I don't bother with conversation. What's the point? My intentions are clear, and if they don't want to play along, then they can go and find some nice little queer to marry and spend the rest of their lives lying to themselves, that they're just like everybody else.

But they always play along.

And playing can be such fun.

For them.

They tell me as much, when their body lies entangled with mine in the early hours of the morning.

"You're amazing."

"That was fantastic!"

"Can I get your number?"

"Can we do this again?"

All of these useless, meaningless sentiments which mean shit all to me. I don't care if they enjoy it. They fulfill my purpose, I throw them out. Rinse and repeat.

It's the best thing in the world, to be in control again. For a while there, I lost it, because of...well, because of unforeseen circumstances. I forgot the rules. The most important one being, never ever let anyone get close.

Cheryl, yes. The kids, of course.

But anyone else is fatal.

What am I even thinking all of this for? It's over, done. I have the power back.

What I really need to concentrate on is getting this zombie out of my bed.

I move closer towards him. He hardly takes up much space. He's a slip of a thing really. I could carry him on my shoulders for miles and not feel a thing. His dark hair is slightly damp, still covered in the sweat which I created. No wonder he's sleeping, the things I had him doing tonight.

"Hey." I nudge him.

It's futile, really. If the sound of his own snoring doesn't wake him up, nothing will. Trust me to pick this idiot. I should have listened to him when he tried it on again after the first time. I wasn't really in the mood for a repeat performance, not with Cheryl in close proximity. But at least he wouldn't have fallen asleep.

I look over at his sprawled figure once more. I have an idea. I may not be an expert in rousing slumbering twinks from my bed, but I do know one thing that's woken me up in the past.

I raise the covers that lie on top of him, my eyes trailing over his naked form. He's lying on his front, a hindrance to my plans. I roll him over onto his back, and reach out. My hand clasps around his cock, and I begin to move up and down. Slowly, at first, just waiting. Then faster, when he doesn't react.

His snores break off as quickly at they started.

"What the -"

His eyes half open, he raises his head and looks from me to my now erratically moving hand. A smile spreads across his face. He thinks I can't resist him.

What a joke.

"I thought you said you were too tired?" he asks.

He settles his head down onto the pillow again, probably preparing for what he thinks is coming to him. I try to hide my disgust for what kind of person he thinks I am. Time to end this freak show.

"I am."

My hand stops.

His eyes no longer look tired.

"What? Why did you stop?"

"Because it's three in the fucking morning, and you're still here."

The poor fool looks confused.

"Is that a bad thing?"

I nearly laugh.

"What do you think?"

He looks like he thinks he has no idea what he's walked in to.

"You're not going to chuck me out, are you? At this time?"

"Of course not."

Relief spreads across his face. He lets out a soft laugh, which I copy.

"You're going to voluntarily leave."

That shuts him up.

"What?"

"You heard me. Get your shit -" I motion to the clothes spread out across my bedroom floor - "and get out."

He looks genuinely surprised. What did he expect? Spooning and breakfast in bed by yours truly? I sure do have a knack of picking the dumb ones. There's only one twink who I've ever let sleep in my bed...and I don't think about him anymore.

Something about my face seems to tell this lad that I'm not messing about. He starts gathering his clothes. I don't even bother to have one last look at him before he puts his boxers on. I've already had him.

He turns to me when he's fully dressed.

"Are you seriously going to do this?"

Won't he ever shut up?

"Actually, I think you'll find I already did. Now be quiet. My sister's down the hall. You wake her up, and I'll make sure that you'll never forget my name."

He snorts. A meek attempt at bravery.

"You never even told me your name."

I just look at him, my eyes telling him to get the hell out.

The threat must have worked, because he leaves silently through the front door. I smooth out the pillow that he lay on, erasing all memory of him.

Finally, I can sleep. And Cheryl will never even know that for a few hours, there were the three of us in this flat.

I made a mistake, letting her see me kissing someone two weeks ago at the club. I got cocky. It was necessary, at the time, but it could have cost me. My days of mixing business with pleasure are over. From now on, it has to be like this. Me and men who she doesn't know, who she never will know. I don't need to give her any more reasons to get at me. God knows, she has enough already. Number one being that the vacancy at the club still hasn't been filled. She keeps on bringing me these students, whose only experience in the drinks industry has been downing a can of cider at the local park. Forget that. I need to find someone who actually knows that they're talking about. Get Cheryl off my back.

I don't like us arguing like this. But what she has to understand is, it had to be done. In the rare few moments when I allow myself to think about..._him_, I know that I made the right decision. He was acting like he knew me. Wanting to talk about prison, like he has a clue what it's like being beaten to a pulp by Foxy's brain dead cronies every single night.

He honestly believed that I killed Rae. After everything I've told him about how I would never hurt a woman.

All of those months I spent away from him, wondering if he would visit. I would never dare ask Cheryl anything about him - how he was doing, if he mentioned me, if he'd already moved on to Noah number two. If I could sleep at all, that's what I imagined. Him, with some other guy. Laughing. Laughing at me. I would wake up, so angry with myself for going to that place. In the day, there were things to keep me occupied, however mind numbingly tedious they were. I had a routine, mainly consisting of eating, shitting and being on my guard, at all times.

I could easily filter him from my mind. Well...when I say easily...sometimes it took a lot of strength. So much strength that I'd feel it in my entire body, surging through me. My hands would clench themselves into fists with the effort of not thinking about him. No wonder the guards would tell him I looked ready for a fight. By the end of the day, my jaw would ache, tensed with the pressure of not reacting to some reminder of him. And there would be some reminder. Everywhere. Strange, how even in a prison cell you can make something out of nothing.

Being alone in the dark like this, my head full of...him. It's like being back there. And I swore to myself when I came out that I was never, ever going back.

I reach over to the drawer by my bedside. Underneath a shower of condom wrappers are a packet of sleeping pills. I pop two out. That should do the trick. There's no way that I'm staying up and wasting my thoughts on him. He's only invading my head because he's another fucker to add to the Judas list. In a year's time I don't even plan to remember his name.

I laugh softly to myself.

What am I thinking?

A year?

Forget it.

Try a month.

XXX

"Bren?"

A woman is in my bed, shaking me. I haven't had a woman in my bed since Eileen, and she knew better than to try to wake me up. Maybe if I ignore it she'll go away. This is probably the last vestiges of some bad dream.

"Brendan!"

The shaking has turned to tickling. There's only one person who knows how much that gets to me.

"Chez, cut it out!"

She stops immediately.

"What do you expect, when I've been yelling in your ear for the past five minutes?"

Great. I've turned into Mr Snorer.

"I thought you'd had some kind of heart attack in the night!"

"My heart's just fine, Chez."

I sit up in bed, opening my eyes properly. I see she's brought two coffees up, and is already half way through hers. My sister tends to save coffee-in-bed mornings for times when we need a 'wee chat', as she calls it.

"Is that for me?"

She passes over the coffee.

"I thought we could have a wee -"

"What is it, Cheryl?"

I don't have time to mess around today. I could have had another two hours on those sleeping pills.

She looks slightly annoyed by my interruption, but lets it slide. Obviously whatever she has to say is more important than a sibling sparring session.

"Lynsey's coming round for lunch today."

That's it? I was getting ready for her to tell me that my plans to sneak house guests who she's never met out of here really wasn't going to plan.

"So...do you want me to make a salad?"

"Brendan! This is serious."

"Serious? Lynsey, your best friend, who lived here, who we see almost every day, is coming over. And this qualifies as breaking news?"

"Well, it's not like we've exactly been best friends lately."

Oh. Right. No. Of course not. Because of the small matter of my sister and the rest of the village believing she belonged in a straightjacket.

"I thought you two had patched things up?"

"We're at least talking again, but she still looks at me like..."

"Like what?"

"Like I didn't believe her."

Yeah. I know that look.

"Which is why this lunch is really important to me."

I smile at her. Spending the day with two hormonally challenged women isn't how I'd choose to spend my time. Mark my words, they'll be hugging and crying and forgiving each other in about two seconds flat. Then I'll be stuck with them talking about make up and boys for the whole afternoon. Ick.

I remind myself who's asking me to do this.

"No problem, sis. I'll even put my best pants on."

"Oh, such a charmer."

This is the part where I expect her to leave, to put on her sunday best and let me make the transition from half dead to alive and kicking.

But she stays put.

"Are you okay, Chez?"

She hesitates. I begin to think that there's a trick in all of this that I'm missing. That her asking me to come to lunch wasn't really what she wanted my approval on.

"Don't hate me -"

Uh oh. Here it comes.

"But Lynsey's invited someone else along."

"Okay..."

I trail though the list of Lynsey's friends. Who would annoy me? Jacqui McQueen, her new flatmate. I could handle that. Alright, so she did choose Danny Houston over me. But let's face it, she did me a favour in the long run. I'm not quite sure that she and Cheryl are ready for lunch dates, though. Not after Gilly. So Jacqui's out.

Besides her and the equally unlikely Rhys Ashworth, I can't think of anyone else. Lynsey's not exactly Miss Popular around here, even before the whole murderous granddad situation.

Unless...

"Don't tell me Lynsey's got some new fancy man?"

Cheryl turns scarlet. Bingo.

"Well, good for her. I mean, anyone's got to be an improvement after Gilly and Mal -"

"Brendan!"

Shit. I shouldn't have gone there. Two men, both of whom Cheryl was in love with. One of who's now dead, the other missing in action.

"Sorry. I didn't mean that. Well, I kind of did, but you know what I mean."

"I think you need to work on your apologies, Bren."

"Right. Anyway...are you going to tell me who this fella is, Chez? Because my coffee's getting stone cold."

She looks down at the floor. Whoever this guy is, he's got her worried. About me.

"Alright, I'll tell you. But you have to promise that you'll stay calm, and that you'll go out of your way to be nice to him. This is sort of their first date, you see. Lynsey wants me to be there, in case there are any awkward silences. But I told her that I didn't want to be the gooseberry in the middle, so -"

"You turned this into some of twisted double date?"

"So much for staying calm."

What does she expect? For me to sit back and watch Lynsey and some guy play footsie under the table, while my sister gives me a lecture about me sacking her favourite member of staff?

"I am calm, I promise. I'll be on my best behaviour. I'll even shake the guy's hand, if you want. I'll play the proud father role."

"Very funny. But I don't think you will once you find out who it is."

Damn. I must really hate this guy. Did Foxy break out of prison and make a play for the last woman in my life who he _hasn't_ slept with?

"It's just...whenever you two interact, you tend to...well, get him in some kind of trouble."

"Enough with the suspense, Chez. I don't care who it is. I'll come to the lunch, I'll be the perfect host. Just tell me."

"Okay. It's Doug."

Doug?

What?

Douglas?

_My _Douglas?

My favourite knitted-jumper wearing, American Douglas?

_What?_

"I'm not coming."


	3. Chapter 3 Ste

_*Thank you for your lovely reviews, I really appreciate them! It's been a hard week to watch - I'm not surprised that the fandom practically exploded with the revelations of onenightstand!Brendan. I've gone from feeling disappointed, to confused, to hopeful, to nostalgic for those lovely days when Rae and her blond little head was the only thing to come between them. Sob. This fic is an attempt for me to make sense of all this craziness! I hope you enjoy it.*_

Chapter Three

It's my first official day at work. Tony insisted that yesterday was just a trial. I knew that was all talk, though. We effortlessly shifted back into our old pattern, mainly consisting of him giving me instructions, and me following them. I didn't mind. I'm used to being bossed around. What I'm not used to, though - or what I haven't been used to for a long time - is that what you see with Tony, is what you get. There's no ulterior motive, no games. I'm not on my guard at all times with him. He's not waiting to trip me up. I can finally breath again.

He smiles at me as I walk in. There are already customers sitting on the sofas, desperate for their morning caffeine fix.

I notice Doug out of the corner of my eye. Usually I wouldn't give him a second glance. It's not like we run in the same circles. But I can't help but do a double take when I see him. Mainly due to the fact that he looks awful. Like he's just seen a ghost. His skin is practically opaque. He hasn't exactly been on good form lately, not after what happened to his girlfriend. But his appearance today is enough to make me think that I should at least see if he's okay.

Putting on an apron that Tony hands to me, I walk over to him. He's so out of it that he doesn't even appear to notice my approach.

"Doug?"

He slowly looks up through glazed eyes.

"Can I get you another coffee?"

He shakes his head.

"Some food?"

Again, no. Maybe I'm out of my depth here. I barely know the guy. Surely this is a job for those girls he hangs out with, Texas and Leanne.

I turn to leave.

"Actually, Ste -"

He's got some colour back in his cheeks. He has the look of a man whose just found the light at the end of a dark tunnel.

"Can you sit for a moment?"

I look at Tony, who's writing the specials on a chalkboard. Gossiping with the customers isn't exactly the best impression to make with the boss watching over me...but business is still quiet. And for some reason, I feel like I can't walk away from this.

"Okay, but it'll have to be quick. It's my first day here. What's going on?"

"I've met this girl."

Not what I was expecting. Please God don't tell me he wants dating advice.

"It's Lynsey."

Wow. Doug and Lynsey. I can't see them together. But then, I can hardly talk, not with my choices, can I?

"That's great, Doug. Lynsey's a nice girl."

"Yeah, she is. Really nice. Which is why it's important to me that I make a good impression."

"So what's the problem?"

"I'm going to lunch today with her. To Cheryl's."

I wonder if there's some catch in all of this that I'm missing. Okay, so Cheryl's a little...full on. But the worst she'll do is talk about some embarrassing incident from Lynsey's past in Ireland.

"Cheryl's alright, you know."

"It's not her I'm worried about. It's Brendan."

Out of all the people who I thought I could avoid discussing _him_ with, Doug was high on my list. It looks like I'm not safe anywhere.

"He's coming too..."

Doug looks increasingly nauseous again.

"Doug...not that I don't want to help, but...why are you telling me all this?"

"Because you and Brendan are..._you know_."

He stares at me intently, leaving me with no doubt about his meaning.

"Me and Brendan aren't..."

How do I put this in a way which won't cause me to run from this coffee shop right now and lock myself in my bedroom for the next few hours?

"We're not...doing that anymore."

That seems the best answer I can give. The only answer. I can't say that we're not together anymore. We were never together. He made sure of that.

"Oh." He looks surprised. Why should he be? He knows Brendan. Doesn't he realise that he can lose people from his life without pausing for breath?

"Sorry about that, Ste."

I don't want his sympathy. I know he's just trying to be kind, but it's all I can do to stay in this spot, listening to him say the name of the man who I've worked hard to forget about.

"I should be getting back to work -"

"Wait! One more thing. You know Brendan better than anyone."

It's as though he's got a knife and is twisting it deeper and deeper into me.

"He's going to try to do everything he can to show me up in front of Lynsey today. I just know it. By the end of this lunch, it'll be a miracle if she's even talking to me."

That's true. Brendan will do all he can to stir the pot. For no other reason than because he can.

"I need to know what to do to get him to stop...so that I have a chance."

Poor Doug. He's got it bad. I can recognise that need...that need to prove yourself to a person. To make them love you.

"Brendan loves games. If you want to beat him, then you have to play along. Find his weakness."

"What's that?"

I wish I knew.

"That's for you to find out."

Doug nods. I may not have given him a concrete answer, but he looks better. Almost like a normal human being again.

"Thanks, Ste," He rises from his seat. "I'm going to get ready now. Good luck on your first day. Oh, and..." He stops, as if contemplating whether to say the next sentence. "I'm sorry. About you and Brendan. I can't say that I like the guy, but...well, I really am sorry."

He's sorry, because he thinks that Brendan left me. It's written all over his face. Because of course he couldn't possibly think in a million years that it could be the other way round. I want to choke on his apologies. They make me feel weak. Trampled on.

"Thanks, but there's nothing to feel sorry about. Trust me, I'm fine. In fact..."

I make sure he sees me staring at a guy whose just walked through the door. Young. Blond. Attractive.

"I'm thinking now's definitely the right time to move on. Know what I mean?"

I put on my best smile for Doug. The action is so alien to me of late that I feel like my jaw will break. But it works.

"That's great, Ste. I'll leave you to it, then."

He winks.

I keep that smile on till he's walked out the door. It vanishes in an instant. I walk to the counter, where the guy is ordering from Tony. He _is_ cute. Then why do I feel nothing when I look at him? The thought of being with someone else is the last thing on my mind.

Doug and Lynsey can keep their happiness to themselves. Besides. It's only a matter of time before Brendan messes them up. Find his weakness? What was I talking about? The man has no weakness.

XXX

By the end of my shift, my head feels like it's going to explode. Everything went according to plan. Tony's agreed to let me try out a few ideas for the menu. The two girls working there who he told me about are decent enough. They remind me a bit of Theresa McQueen, all high heels, red lipstick and hair extensions falling over coffee cups. Tony muttered under his breath a few times about 'professionalism', but I reckon he likes it secretly. They reel in the students, after all.

Best of all, I'm going home whilst there's still some light outside. No more crawling in at the crack of dawn, trying not to step on any of the kids toys and wake up Amy.

I should be celebrating. Instead, I feel like an army of hundreds are doing the conga inside my skull. Every noise from the outside is amplified. As I walk home, all the cars seem to be driving at the highest speed. Everyone seems to be talking too loudly. I know why this is happening. The pressure of trying to keep all thoughts of _him _out of my head have caused this. Even when he's out of my life, he's causing me physical pain.

Still, I cam't blame him completely. I'm the one doing this. I can tell Tony I'm fine till I'm blue in the face. It doesn't change anything. It's been there like a drip from a tap all afternoon. Drip Drip Drip. Brendan Brendan Brendan. I've pictured every single scenario, all running through my mind like scenes from a film.

Doug, dressed up in his best clothes, standing proudly next to Lynsey. In front of the man he's so dying to impress.

Brendan, looking him up and down appreciatively. Taking in everything - his hair, his jacket, his trousers, his smell. Thinking how small he is, how he'd fit perfectly with him. _In_ him.

A car screeches in front of me, swerving to avoid a collusion. The driver swears at me, asking me what I think I'm doing. I'll tell you what I'm doing. I'm making myself sick. I'm torturing myself with things which should no longer have the power to hurt me. I know how Brendan likes them young. Doug's just the right side of vulnerable for his tastes. He'd enjoy exploring every inch of him on offer.

And what if Doug's not really there for Lynsey? What if it's all a decoy? What if she's just part of the plan? And when she's distracted, having lunch with Cheryl, he and Brendan are...Oh God.

My walk breaks into a run. Passers by stare at me. I must look a right sight. Running, seemingly from nothing, seemingly to nowhere, for no reason. It sounds stupid, impossible, but I know what I'm running from. _Him_. He's behind me, everywhere I go.

But if I could just get home, into my own place, and lock the door...maybe I could lock him out.

I almost cry from relief when I spot the familiar door of my flat. It may not have the stylish trappings of Amy's old place, but it's home. Safe.

I don't wait to find my keys, buried within the pocket of my jacket. I knock straight away. Please Amy, please be there...

I knock so hard that I nearly fall though the door when it finally opens.

"Bloody hell Ste, what's going on?"

Amy looks at me with concern.

"Sorry, I..."

I what? I don't have any excuse.

Her face changes. A smile spreads across it.

"Who told you? Was it Michaela?"

"What?"

I cradle my fist, which has developed spots of red across the knuckles.

"Come in first, you must be tired after today."

We go forwards into the hall. Our flat is so small that I immediately notice what's happened in the other room.

Amy's cooked us dinner. She's laid it out, alongside candles, which we only get out for special occasions. Everything's been tidied away - the dishes, the laundry, all the things which signify that we're barely more than teenagers, struggling to pay the bills, with two kids who don't yet know the meaning of the word 'neat.'

"Amy...what's going on?"

She beams from ear to ear.

"You didn't think I'd stay quiet about this, did you?"

I've clearly missed a step.

"Ames, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh. So Michaela didn't tell you? She was here earlier, when I heard...I couldn't not tell her."

"I haven't seen her all day."

"So you really don't know? Why were you knocking on the door like that, then?"

"Like what?"

I try to sound as innocent as possible.

"Like you were being chased by some gang!"

I try to shrug it off. The way the flat looks has distracted me from before, and I want it to stay that way.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about? You know I hate suspense."

She stands up, and goes into the other room. For a moment, I think she's decided not to tell me, but she comes back, holding an envelope. She hands it to me wordlessly. It's already been opened, but it's been resealed with cello tape. It's got no name on, no address, nothing.

"Who's this from?"

"Open it first, Ste."

Confused, I rip the tape off. I find that my hands are shaking. From Amy's reaction, whatever this is can only be a good thing. But I don't tend to trust good things.

At first, I think she's mistaken. There's nothing in the envelope. I put my hand inside. That's when I feel it. Paper. A letter? I haven't received a letter in years. Not a real one, anyway. Not one that didn't have to do with gas or electricity.

Amy smiles at me in encouragement. I take out the piece of paper. It turns out it's not a letter.

It's a cheque.

"I don't understand..." I hear myself whisper.

"It's for you, Ste. All for you."

She can't be right. I've never had this much money in my life.

"This is a mistake."

"It's not a mistake. Trust me. I was given it myself."

"Amy, this is thousands of pounds. Your dad can't afford this."

Forget about affording it. He would never give it to me in the first place. But who, then?

"It's not from my dad. It's from your uncle."

"What?"

Suddenly, the Mike option doesn't seem so unlikely.

"My uncle's dead. Both of them are."

"Actually, that's not entirely true. I mean, they are both dead, but...a little later than you thought."

I don't understand any of this.

"Ste, your mum lied. She told you her brother had died, do you remember?"

Unfortunately, I remember almost everything that's come out of my mum's mouth. Including a lot of things that I wish I didn't.

"Yeah. She told me he had died from an accident, after I born."

"He didn't die. They had an argument, you see. Apparently it was such a bad one that they agreed they'd never speak again. I guess she really hated him, and didn't want you to see him, so she told you he was dead. And he was angry with her, so he didn't contact you..."

"This can't be true. How do you even know all this?"

"Because his solicitor came to see me today, while you were at work. He told me your uncle died recently, and that he left a will."

I look down at the cheque in my hands.

"That's not possible. Not one person in my family has ever had money."

"Turns out he was actually doing alright for himself. He had a proper job. But he never had kids or a wife, so he left some money to other family members, and the rest to you."

"I don't get it...why? Why would he give me all this? I've never even met the guy."

"He met you when you were a baby. You must have made quite an impression."

She smiles and nudges me.

"Come on, this is amazing! Just think what you can do with all of this!"

It is amazing. These things don't happen to someone like me. Still, I can't quite celebrate over the fact that once again, my mum's screwed me over. And that I had an uncle all along, one who actually cared about me...

"I want you to have this, Amy."

I try to hand her the envelope, but her hands remain where they are.

"No way."

"Don't tell me you're turning down the chance of buying designer handbags?"

"While that is a lovely thought, I'm not taking a penny of that money. And neither are the kids."

What? That's not like Amy.

"We can get by just fine, you know. All of us. First thing tomorrow, you're going to the bank and cashing that in to your savings. You've looked after us enough over the years. I'll never forget you being there for us when I was..." She falters. "Unable to be with Leah and Lucas."

"I just did what any other dad would do -"

"No, you didn't. You're not like any other dad. You deserve to use that money for something great. Something just for you."

I can't believe she would do this for me.

"Amy...I love you. But I don't even know what I'd do with cash like this."

"It doesn't matter. You'll figure it out."


	4. Chapter 4 Brendan

After a lot of persuasion, copious more cups of coffee, and a fry up in bed, Cheryl convinced me that my presence is required during this sickening lovefest. She thinks I'm doing this out of the goodness of my own heart, for my dear friend Lynsey. Oh Chez. You really don't know me at all, do you?

After first considering all the ways I could get out of this lunch, I began to reconsider. No doubt it would be boring as hell on the surface. But there could be...potential. If I decided to liven things up, it could be quite the party. Of course, Cheryl considered this. That's why she was so worried about asking me. But I reassured her that it'll all run smoothly. After all. What she doesn't know can't hut her. And she doesn't have to know how I plan to make my own fun.

Douglas still owes me, from before. Big time. If he knows what's good for him, he'll stay quiet and be thankful that I'm not giving him a harder time. I'm going to give Dougie boy a few hours to remember, that's for sure.

I don't lose anything from the equation. Nothing's going to bring me down today. I have the night off from the club, a rare occurrence with Foxy being gone...and the other vacancy still not being filled. I'm going to make sure that the incident last night isn't one that's going to be repeated. This time everything's going to run the way it should. No one will ever fall asleep on me again.

"You alright, Bren?"

Cheryl watches me from where she's preparing the fish. As I promised, I'm chief salad maker. I don't even _eat_ salad.

"You seem a bit distracted."

Thank God she can't see into my brain and discover all my Douglas-filled schemes. Her head would explore from the trauma of it all.

"I'm just thinking about Lynsey. Can't be easy, coming back here after we kicked her out."

After _you_ kicked her out, I want to say, but I can't do that to her.

"Please, don't. I feel bad enough as it is. You were the only one who believed her about Silas. Well, you and Doug."

"How did they get together, anyway?"

I pray that she won't tell me the particulars. I don't want to know about their first kiss. And I definitely don't want to know about the first time they...

"I think they just got closer over Christmas. She told me how Doug had a really bad time of it."

All because of a girl. Jenny, or Rebecca, or whoever she was. Douglas hasn't yet learnt the lesson that it doesn't pay to hold on to anyone.

"Do you think I should ask her to move back in, Bren?"

"Why? She's happy at Jacqui's, isn't she?"

"I think so...but this is her home."

"_Was _her home."

I know I'm being a bastard. But the last thing I need is for another person to hide my night time guests from.

I soften my voice for her. It works every time.

"I think Lynsey should just stay put, Chez. She's already had to move her stuff there. And you said it yourself, you two still aren't back to being best friends yet. Give it time."

She opens her mouth to say something more, but is interrupted by a knock at the door.

"They're here!"

She puts the fish on a plate, and bangs it onto the table.

"How's the salad?"

"It's salad, Chez."

"Oh, never mind then! Quickly, come on!"

Feeling like I'm about to greet the Queen, I follow behind Cheryl, who's twitching all over the place. She puts her hand on the door, then stops.

"Brendan. Before we do this, promise me one more time."

"I promise."

"You won't mess this up?"

"I won't mess this up."

Looking convinced, she opens the door. I draw back to let her get all the hugging out of the way. I watch in amusement as she coos over Douglas like some proud parent.

"Hiya, Brendan." Lynsey hugs me. "Thanks for coming."

"Well, it is my flat."

"You know what I mean."

We break off. I stare at Douglas. It's the first time I've seen him in a while. Apparently working with me is no longer good enough for him. He's wearing one of his least offensive jumpers. It's plain, a rarity for him. He could even blend into a crowd. Lynsey must have talked him round. I'm sure the words 'good' and 'impression' must have passed her lips.

Is it just me, or are his cheeks slightly...flushed? His ears, too. Hmmmm. Interesting.

"Douglas." I nod towards him.

"Hi, Brendan."

I'm starting to think we shouldn't have met for lunch. The guy looks like he's going to puke all over the food.

"Come through to the kitchen, you two. I made some salmon, I hope that's okay. Omega 3 fats and all that, good for the brain, the skin, the heart -"

Chez does this when she gets nervous. She babbles. Like crazy.

"And I made a salad."

I hold up my pathetic attempt to create an actual dish. The green leaves look like they're about to wither and die.

"Aw, thanks guys. You didn't have to do all this."

Lynsey and Chez exchange a smile which suggests that everything's on its way to being forgiven.

We all sit round the table. Doug and Lynsey sit next to each other with about a centimeter of space between them. This is what I hate about couples. Why do they have to inflict this shit on the rest of us?

"This is delicious, don't you think, Doug?"

Lynsey's clearly trying to fill the silence. Fair enough that Chez didn't want to face Romeo and Juliet on her own, but it really would have been better, just the three of them. I'm the one making this awkward. The odd one out. I smile at the knowledge of this. I'm the one making Douglas squirm. Time for the games to begin.

"So, Douglas. I went to Rae's grave."

There's a clattering sound as Cheryl's knife drops to her plate. She stares at me, open mouthed.

"Oh. You did?"

Douglas is trying to keep this casual.

"Yeah."

"Brendan -" Cheryl shoots me a death glare.

"No, he wants to know this, sis. He asked me about a month ago, didn't you, Douglas? Wanted to know whether I was going to come to her grave with him."

That's right. I did."

He's standing his ground. The boy's got guts, I'll give him that.

"That's really sweet, Doug." Lynsey puts her hand on top of his, stroking the flesh there. "You were a good friend to her."

"Well, we didn't really know each other that much. She lived in the flat for a while, but she moved out pretty quickly."

"Aw, don't put yourself down, Douglas. You were there for her when she needed you. You even offered her a job, didn't you?"

Douglas clamps his mouth shut, mid chew. He sees what I'm getting at now. The light atmosphere that he tried so hard to keep is destroyed.

"What job?" Lynsey asks. Funny, how she can't see the way his eyes are burning into mine, willing me to stop this sweet torture.

"Oh, it was just a small one, really. Do you want to tell the story?"

I pick up my glass of wine, looking at my prey while I finger the rim.

Douglas swallows. His brain's probably working a mile a minute.

"Rae needed some money...I told her I'd pay her to hand out some leaflets...one of the many fantastic job this poor student had."

He laughs with Lynsey. Good one. He almost made it sound real. But I know. Nothing gets past me.

"Yes, what is it you do for money, Douglas?"

Cheryl looks from me to him, trying to work us out. She knows something's up, but my voice is as light as air. It unnerves her. She can't figure it out. Therefore, I am blameless.

"Why are you so interested, Brendan?"

Doug can't quite keep the edge out of his voice.

"Forgive me. But you are dating one of my childhood friends. I get a little protective, you understand. I want to know that she'll be provided for."

"Brendan!" Lynsey bursts out laughing. I guess she's the one with the sense of humour in this relationship. "We've just stated going out! What is this, an interview for a husband?"

"Sorry, Lyns. I'm just looking out for you. And your boyfriend doesn't mind, does he? I mean, why would he?"

Douglas stares me down. "No. I don't mind at all."

What will you come up with this time, you slippery snake?

"The truth is, I haven't really had a...real job yet."

You can say that again, sunshine. Unless drug dealing 101 comes with its own pension.

"My mum and dad help out a lot with my money."

Smiling at me, trying to show me he's won, he turns back to Lynsey.

"But I'm looking to change all that."

She smiles and they rub noses. _They rub noses._ I spit out my fish.

The rest of lunch passes with me going though the alphabet in my head, A to Z and back again, more times than I can count. All I have to do is give a non committal grunt and the odd 'yes', 'no' and 'i see' every fifteen minutes or so, and the girls are happy.

My former employee, however, is a different story. He can't keep the sweat from breaking out on his brow. He glances at me, as if he's just keeping check of what I'm up to, when he thinks no one is looking. To an outside observer, we're one big happy family. But Douglas knows better.

I don't relent.

Don't get me wrong. I make it subtle. I pretend I've got a headache, ask him if he's got any pills. Tell him that he should consider a career in pharmacology, as he 'looks like the type.' He almost chokes on his salad, which is oddly appropriate. And Cheryl and Lynsey are none the wiser. Didn't I say it would all run smoothly?

"Thanks for that, Cheryl, it was great," Douglas says.

"No problem, babe. You're welcome here anytime."

Douglas looks like he'd sooner contemplate death.

"Shall we go into town? We could go to the cinema, see what's on."

Doug and Lynsey nod. They look at me.

"I think I'll skip this one, if you don't mind."

Time to get some extra kip before my big night tonight. As much fun as dangling Dougie boy on a string is, I have other things to attend to.

The others get up to leave, putting their coats on. Just as I think I've finally got rid of them, Douglas surprises me.

"You two walk ahead, I've just got to use the loo."

"Are you sure?" Cheryl eyes me warily, as if I've somehow planned this all along. "We can wait."

"No, don't worry. In fact, I think I'll pop back to the flat quickly...I left my phone there. I won't be long."

They reluctantly leave, Cheryl giving me one last warning glance before leaving Lynsey's toy boy alone, trapped with me. Time to find out what this guy's playing at.

He doesn't even bother to head towards the bathroom. He's here for a whole other reason, and we both know it.

"I feel like we're having a blinking contest, Douglas."

"What are you doing, Brendan?"

"Oops, you blinked! One nil to me."

"Quit joking around."

I eye him up. He's got his arms crossed. Trying to be the big man.

"Joking's what I do best."

"Don't I know it." He rolls his eyes. "You've been doing nothing else all afternoon. Except you haven't seemed to notice, no one's laughing."

"I am, Douglas. On the inside."

I step closer to him. He retreats like a rabbit whose stepped in a foxes trap.

"What a lovely pair you two make. Really...special."

I sound the word out, almost spitting in his face.

"Stop doing this."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm not stupid. All those digs about pills. All those questions about what I do to make money -"

"You can't blame me for wanting to protect my friend."

"You don't have friends, Brendan. You have a series of people who you piss off. Me, Warren, Rae, Noah, Ste -"

He stops. I was sure that list would have been longer.

"What?" I was kind of interested in seeing where this conversation was going.

"Why did you flinch when I said Ste's name?"

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did,"

Shit. I didn't really do that, did I? Because I wouldn't. That's not something I would do.

Douglas looks at me thoughtfully. I don't like that look.

"I can't believe it." He whispers it, so that I have to take another step forward and strain to hear him. "That's it, isn't it? Your weakness."

I don't know what the hell he's talking about. The boy's probably been on the pills again.

He breaks off from his whispering, looking at me again. There's no sign of hesitancy on his face now.

"I bumped into Ste earlier on."

Why is he telling me this?

'Oh yeah? Wow. Fancy that, in a village like this. What are the odds? Fascinating, really it is."

"He seemed to be doing well. He's got a new job, working for Tony."

Does he think I'm actually interested in this information?

"They're a really good team. And like I said, he's looking really well. I'm surprised he's still single, to be honest. Still, it won't be for long, eh? In fact, I saw him eyeing up some guy while we were talking...looks like someone's going to get lucky tonight."

I have to shut him up. I smash into him, breaking off his words.

He hits the wall behind him, a soft 'oomph' falling from his mouth from the impact. My hand clutches his throat. I can hear my breathing, coming hard and fast.

"Touched a nerve, have I, Brendan?"

"Shut the fuck up, you little bastard."

I realise what I've just said. What I've done. I've lost control, something I never allow myself to do. Despite the fact that I've just pushed him into a wall, Douglas looks euphoric.

"It hurts, doesn't it? When someone knows your secret." He laughs scornfully. "What is it about this kid, huh? What makes him the one? I've known for months that you two were sleeping together. Everyone knew...but I didn't know what it meant. Until now."

"Do you want me to kill you, Douglas? Because it can be arranged."

"I don't think your sister would be too pleased about that, do you?"

"She'd get used to it."

"And would you get used to it? Going back to prison?"

I loosen my grip on him. He moves away from me.

"Here's how it's going to work. You're going to leave me alone from now on. If me and Lynsey come round here, or bump into you, you're going to be polite. They'll be no more innuendos about my past. I'm not that person anymore. It's finished. She'll never find out. Understand?"

I sneer at him. He's playing with fire.

"I don't make deals with anyone. You've got nothing on me."

"That's where you're wrong. See, I know what makes you tick now. Or rather, who."

I want to hit him so badly my hands shake.

"If you even make so much as another joke about me again, I'm going to pay Ste a little visit. See, he gave me some advice today. So it's only fair that I return the favour. Want to know what I'm going to advise him?"

I bring my hands together to try to contain them.

"I'm going to tell him to sleep with every guy he meets." He enunciates every word. Every word, a thorn in my side.

"And trust me, Brendan. I won't stop until he's done everything to forget that you ever even existed. I love Lynsey and I'm not going to lose her over you."

He ends his little speech. He looks fucking proud of himself. He thinks he's got me.

"Nice try, Douglas. I think you've forgotten something though. No one can threaten me."

He looks unconvinced. Still high from the power he thinks he has.

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"Because you can't threaten someone who has nothing to lose. You think I care about Stephen? You're wrong."

He looks me square in the eyes. "I don't think so."

He needs to get out of here as quickly as possible. He has allowed thoughts of _him_ to get back into my mind. He's ruining everything.

"Tell Stephen to fuck every queer in Chester for all I care."

I hope I'm not flinching now.

"If I want to screw with you, Douglas, then I will. There's nothing stopping me. I'll tell your precious Lynsey all about how you put a girl in hospital thanks to your 'job'. How you were willing to get Rae locked up to protect yourself. How you worked for me for months. The nurse and the drug dealer. Quite the combination, don't you think?"

He lunges at me, but I'm too quick.

"Don't forget who you're dealing with, Dougie boy. I can break you, just like that."

"Lynsey will never believe you."

I laugh. It's hollow.

"I went to prison for her. She'll believe anything I tell her."

"She'll forgive me."

"Really? I wonder. It's not just that you've broken the law. It's that you've lied to her. Lynsey's had enough people in her life stabbing her in the back, don't you think?"

Sweet Douglas. He honestly thought he could make a deal with the devil.

"So there's nothing I can do that'll make you stop screwing with us?"

I consider his question, and everything he's told me. He's given me a lot to think about today...I can tell he'd do almost anything to avoid Lynsey finding out about his connections with me. I shouldn't waste this opportunity.

"There is something you could do, Douglas."

Hope and fear flitter across his face.

"I'm not dealing drugs again, Brendan."

"Good to know, but that's not what I want."

He knows about me and Stephen. He said it himself. _Everyone knows._ Now's the time to use that to my advantage.

"I want you to watch over Stephen for me."

It looks like the last thing he was expecting.

"What? But I thought you said you didn't care about -"

"It doesn't matter what I said. You do as you're told."

"Okay..."

"Go to that coffee shop everyday. Watch him. Then follow him home at night. On his days off, be everywhere he is. Then report back to me."

Douglas frowns. "You want me to...stalk him?"

Fuck, can nothing ever be simple? Is it honestly too much for his pea brain to take?

"I want you to follow him. If stalk's the word you choose to use, then that's your business. As long as you're telling me where he is at all times, Lynsey will never know what a naughty boy you've been."

His cheeks turn pink again. "Will I be paid for this? Considering I'll have no other time in the day to do anything else?"

I roll my eyes. Me not destroying their life is never good enough for these people, is it?

"You'll get your money, don't worry."

He nods. "Anything else?"

I swear to myself that this is the last time I will ever mention his name.

"If...Stephen tries to make...friends." I emphasise the word.

"Yes?"

"Stop him."

Douglas licks his lips at the finality of my words. Good to know I still have the ability to render him speechless.

"Can I go?"

I wave my hand dismissively. I'm sick of the sight of him. He hurries to the door, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rush to get out of here. I'd laugh, if it wasn't for the fact that I've just given him a private insight into what I want.

"Oh, and Douglas?"

He freezes on the spot.

"If you tell anyone about this, I will kill you. Don't doubt that."


	5. Chapter 5 Ste

_*A very soppy chapter, I'm afraid! I'm missing them together and as Hollyoaks fail to give me an insight into what Ste's thinking, I've had to write this to fill in the gaps. I still can't believe they're going to be apart till who knows when. Fic writers really should take over this show.*_

Chapter Five

It's been a week since I found out about the money. I did exactly what Amy told me to do. Straight away the next morning, I went to the bank and cashed in the cheque. Seeing that much money in my account sent a thrill though my spine. A few years ago, I would have spent it all in one go. Computer games, a plasma tv, more take aways than I could eat, a new sofa for the flat. But things had changed. Strange, how I was only twenty one. Suddenly, I felt old.

I had Amy's words ringing in my ears._ Use that money for something great. Something just for you. _The problem is, I'm not sure I have it in me to be great. I told Amy as much, still half trying to convince her to let me use the money for the kids. I tried to build her a picture of all the things we could give them. New toys. Clothes. An investment for the future, for their education. Maybe they could even go to one of those posh schools."Like you'd ever let one of your kids set foot in a private school" she'd told me ruefully. But I would, if that's what they wanted. I wanted them to have everything I didn't.

She wasn't having any of it, though. She thinks I could use it for cooking, for a catering course or something like that. I would have liked that, once. I remember in the early days, being so proud of working in a restaurant. I felt like I'd finally found something I was good at. Even with working for Tony again, it's comfortable. I could do the job in my sleep. But somehow, it feels like everything got...twisted. Blurred around the edges.

At Chez Chez, I didn't even consider whether I liked the work or not. Well, maybe I did the first few weeks, but then something happened. Brendan happened.

I wasn't even really aware of it, at first. How things were changing between us. One minute I was terrified of him, because I couldn't get a handle on him. He was the most unpredictable person I'd ever met; still is. He would turn on this charm and confidence with some people. Carmel, at first, to get her to do his bidding. And Cheryl, obviously. Always Cheryl, as though if he lost her, his image as the angelic older brother would be shattered.

But with me, he was standoffish. Bored even, by my presence. And then he'd switch, just like that. He'd stand up real close, so close I could feel his breath ghosting across my face. I only ever thought he wanted to frighten me, at the time. Looking back now, I wonder if he just wanted to be near me, in whatever way he could. That's the thing with Brendan. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin.

I roll over in bed, where I've been attempting to sleep for the last few hours, with little success. It feels like I'm the only one in the flat. The kids have got used to their bedtimes now without getting sarky, and Amy's still a bit down from Lee leaving, I think. She says she's not in the mood for partying much lately.

It's moments like these, in the dark, alone, that I dread. I wonder if he's doing the same, wide awake in his bed, thinking about me? Or is he in someone else's bed, only concentrating on their pleasure?

I've tried to tell myself that Doug's straight. That he's never shown any interest in Brendan, that it's Lynsey he's after. But I remember my own certainty that I wanted to be with Rae, before Brendan showed me that it wasn't that simple. Okay, so the whole thing with Callum had been...confusing, to say the least. But I hadn't _done_ anything with him. I still enjoyed sleeping with women. What if Doug's just as easily swayed?

What really worries me though, is the men I have no idea about. I don't know if there's already been one of them since the night I was fired, or ten, or a hundred...each falling asleep in the space in Brendan's bed which I used to inhabit. Not that he let me stay over there much. Only twice.

The first time, we fell asleep by accident. We had fucked all night. I felt like I'd never have enough of him. I wanted him everywhere. It felt like he was mine in that moment, when he lay on top of me, moving in and out, my legs circled around his waist. He gave me this look, this look which told me that this was exactly the place he wanted to be. The only place.

I bury my head in the pillow. What am I doing, spouting this sentimental bullshit? Have I forgotten that the second time I fell asleep in his bed, I left the next morning covered in bruises, so weak I had to hold onto a handrail to walk down the steps from his flat without falling? He probably watched me as I slept and thought I was disgusting. Scum. Just some of the words he used as he hit me.

A part of me wants to cause him the same kind of pain that he's caused me. I don't mean physically, through beatings or punches. I did that to him once, and it brought me back to that place. He filled up the space that Amy used to inhabit when I hit her. I can't go back there, no matter how much I want to sometimes.

No, the way to get to him is in ways you'd least expect. I saw it in his face, the times I was with Noah. He'd looked like he was drowning.

I know that if I get with someone else, another guy, it would drive him to distraction. He may not want me, but he doesn't want anyone else to want me either. I seriously consider getting out of this bed, right now, going to a club, pulling some guy and parading him round the village the next day.

I know that I can't do it, though. I think back to the months I spent with Noah. He made me laugh. He wasn't ashamed of me, of kissing me in public, of holding my hand. He'd put his arms around me in bed at night, whether I asked him to or not. We were in our own little cocoon for a while, and I felt...relieved. Relieved, because someone was finally _proud_ of me.

There were voices in my head though, which wouldn't go away. That screamed at me that I was betraying Brendan. That all the public displays of affection didn't mean a thing, because what me and Brendan did behind closed doors was better than any fucking thing that any person in this world could offer me.

The worst part was, I'd still have to go into work everyday, and see him. He'd ignore me at first, like always. But by the end of the night, when we were both exhausted, too tired for putting on an act, I'd catch him looking. I'd look up from behind the bar, and there he'd be, leaning against the door of his office, just staring. His gaze frightened me, to be honest. Mainly because it was like he was looking right through me. He doesn't turn away like most normal people do. His glance was like a million questions that I didn't have the answers to. Going home to Noah after that made me feel ill with guilt. I could justify it to myself all I liked, that I hadn't _done anything._ But I felt like I'd done enough. Enough to destroy it all.

I knew why Noah would be there, outside my flat at that time of night. It was a few miles from his place, and he wasn't the type to come all that way for a chat. I'd let us in, whispering to avoid waking the whole flat up. By the time we reached my bedroom, he'd be tearing the clothes off me. We'd try to be as quiet as possible, but he wouldn't be able to stop the sounds escaping from his mouth. The words of encouragement and pleasure that he gave were unlike anything I'd ever experienced. All the girls I'd been with had been shy, too young at the time I guess. And for Brendan, it was all part of the control. To say my name during sex, to shout or moan would have shown that he wanted me. The only time he was ever vocal was when we fucked on the floor, unable to make it to his bed, after he told me he loved me. I had his cock in my mouth, and he told me not to stop, never to stop. He came calling my name. It felt like a gift.

Suddenly, I find I'm standing on the floor, the bedcovers tossed aside. I'm throwing on my clothes, the first things I can get my hands on. I remember to take my key, so Amy won't know. It'll be like I never left.

I'm walking fast along the estate, through the path that curves off into the village. The tarmac feels hard against my feet, my trainers worn away through years of use. I make a mental note to put new footwear on my list of things to spend the money on, glad that I can at least think of something useful to do with it. It's cold out, and I didn't bring a coat. It doesn't matter. His house is warm. His bed is just within reach now.

I wonder if he'll let me in straight away, or make me wait outside. He might be shocked to see me, this time of night. Or maybe not. Maybe he'll give me one of those smiles of his, which he tries to keep from coming, but can't stop. Call me by the name especially reserved for him. _Stephen._ I can hear it in the air. He'll give me a hard time at first, and so will I. We'll be like strangers to begin with, wary of getting into this thing again. But it'll happen. It's not something you can fight against, or pretend you don't want. It's set in stone.

We don't have to kiss. We don't have to do anything. Just being with him, next to him, will make this ache go away. This ache that I've felt in my bones, ever since I lost him.

It's us against the world. And I'll tell him that. He'll laugh, accuse me of being dramatic. But his eyes will soften. He'll run his fingers over my lips. I'll know he's thinking it too. Stephen Hay and Brendan Brady, against the fucking world.

I'm so close now. So close to the place I long to be. I don't even need to think about where I'm going, how I'm getting there, because I know the route by heart, perfectly memorised from the days when he filled my head like no other memory could. If people pass me on the street, I don't even notice them. They are obstacles blocking my path to him, prolonging our reunion by precious seconds. Every moment is wasted until I am with him again, a giant clock ticking, reminding me of the fact that so much time has been wasted already.

I will open myself to him completely. I am tired of holding back. He will know it all, how I have spent these weeks away from him. How on the surface, life went on as normal. I got up, got dressed, found work, walked and talked and smiled and conformed. That no one suspected a thing.

But there were cracks.

Look closely, and you could see them, threatening to wreck this image that I'd built.

I'll hold his face in my hands, run my fingers over the soft flesh of his cheeks, like he has done to me so many times before._ Without you,_ I'll say, _I haven't been able to really breathe. _

For once, there won't be any smart comeback, or teasing. He won't leave me out in the cold. He'll wrap his arms around me, and I'll be tiny within his solid frame. He'll swallow me whole.

But I won't feel small. I'll feel like I do when he's who he really is, no games, no punishments, no act. I'll feel invincible. _Alive. _

I can see his flat now. All that separates us is some steps, a knock at the door. I am in the alleyway below the club, that gives me a clear view of his door. The door which is now opening.

I wait, transfixed, to see who's coming out. Can it really be possible? Can he really have sensed that I'm here, even closer than he thinks? Has he come down to find me?

I have to stop myself from walking out from the shadows of the alleyway and revealing myself. Because it _is_ him. I'm not dreaming.

I take in his black trousers, his red shirt, my favourite colour on him. His hair, which sticks up in small tufts. It reminds me of how it looked that first time we woke up together. Bed hair. I remember wanting to reach out and stoke it. But I wasn't sure if he'd let me.

I want to call out to him now, to stop the ticking clock. But something about him makes me take a step back, further into the shadows.

He looks wrong somehow, not at all like I'd imagined he would be in this moment. His face is a mask, blocking everything else out. He strides forward with purpose, away from the flat.

And he is not alone.

The figure, at first hidden by the railings that circle the brick building, follows close behind him. He is short, and his obvious nervousness somehow makes him shorter, his shoulders slouched. Even from down here, I can see how his eyes dart from left to right, looking to see if he is being watched. From my position, he doesn't see me. I am barely even a shadow. I am nothing.

The two men walk down the steps. They stop, just for a second. They say something I cannot hear. Then break apart, as if it never happened. The shorter man leaves, walking quickly without looking back. The other stares after his retreating form, then quickly re climbs the steps. He glances around once, missing me by inches, and disappears. He has locked the door. I can't see him anymore.

I am too late. The reality of this hits me with its force. It feels like it's smashing into me, ripping and tearing everything apart. I have to sit on the cold, hard pavement against the wall, otherwise I know I will fall. The strength that I've been trying so hard to prove I have over these past few weeks comes crashing down. I cannot build it back up.

It collapsed the moment I saw Doug leaving Brendan's flat at three in the morning.


	6. Chapter 6 Brendan

_*For anyone who's seen the E4 episode from yesterday - I feel like Ste right now, like I've been punched in the stomach. Thank you, writers, for messing with Ste's character, Brendan's character, and the both of them together. All I can hope for now is that we've reached rock bottom, and the only way to go is up. Still, yesterday taught me that no matter what, I'll always love them together. Brendan could kill him in cold blood. Ste could marry someone else. There could be a message at the end of each episode saying 'message to viewers: Brendan and Ste do not belong together.' I'll just believe it all ended on ILY day if that happens.*_

Chapter Six

"Do you have any previous experience?"

"What...as in bar work?"

No, as in circus performing.

"Yes, as in bar work."

"Well...no. Not really. But I'm a fast learner."

You better be.

"Any kids to support?"

"I'm only twenty!"

"What, and sperm doesn't swim at that age?"

He gulps. I probably shouldn't shock the boy with sex talk quite yet.

"Any girlfriend at home?"

"Why is that relevant?"

"They'll be a lot of drunk women here at the end of the night. Bar staff get a lot of offers. I don't want some scorned woman banging on my door, asking me what's what."

"That won't be a problem. I'm single."

Interesting.

"Well Andrew, I'll be in touch."

"Actually, it's Andy. My name. Just Andy."

"I don't like that name. I've given you a new one."

He looks at me. Sizing me up. Trying to work me out. Forget it, boy. You never will.

I extend my hand. He stares at it, like it's a loaded weapon. I look pointedly from him to it, showing him he doesn't have a choice here. He reluctantly takes it in his own. Funny, how I expected the skin there to be soft. It's not. It's not anything, really. Just skin.

"Thanks" he mumbles awkwardly.

We step outside the office, where Cheryl's putting away the new stock that was just delivered. She smiles at him as he walks down the steps, until the back door swings shut. She turns to me.

"Any more interviews for today?"

"I don't think we need to bother, Chez. We've found our guy."

Suddenly, she seems very interested in a bottle of beer in her hand.

"Brendan..."

"What?"

"Do you not think..." Still she can't look at me.

"Listen, I've got to get on with work in a minute, so spit it out, will you?"

She puts down the bottle.

"Okay, I will spit it out. But I'm not sure you're going to like it."

Oh, here we go...

"I read that guy's CV, Brendan. Andy, wasn't it -"

"Andrew."

She rolls her eyes. "Did you read it?"

"Of course I did, I interviewed him -"

"Then you'd know that he's not right for the job. We've seen dozens of applicants, most of who you've rejected. Either they're too old, you say, or they've not got the right image. Or, incidentally enough, they're female."

"What? Cheryl, I never said that."

"You don't have to! Have you even seriously considered giving the job to one of the girls we've seen?"

"They're not a good fit -"

"That's a fucking lie, Brendan!"

I stop in my tracks. My sister never swears, not like this. Sure, when she's surprised or excited or scared, maybe. But not like she is now, looking at me as though...as though she's angry at me.

"Cheryl -"

"No, please Brendan, let me finish."

She holds her hand up, silencing me. I fight every instinct I have to not let her speak at all, to get out of here right now. But she's all I have.

"These last few weeks...you haven't been the same. And believe me, I understand why. I may not have been to prison, but I'm betting that it's not something which you can just get over. You may not have ever told me this, but I know how scared you must have been in there. But sooner or later, you have to take some responsibility. You can't expect people to excuse your actions forever, just because of what happened to you. I'll be here for you Brendan. Because I know that deep down, this isn't the person who you want to be. But you pushing everyone away like this...you're going to lose them. For good."

She stops, tears in her eyes. I want to reach out and hold her. But wouldn't that be like admitting that I think she's right?

"I don't..."

My voice sounds so quiet, barely there at all.

"I don't understand why you're telling me this now."

"That boy, Brendan. That boy who just walked out of here. Does he remind you of anyone?"

"Andrew? What does he have to do with -"

"He looks like Ste."

Fuck.

"No, he doesn't."

She laughs. There's no humour in it.

"Early twenties. Brown hair. Slight build. Same height. Same features."

She ticks them all off on her hand. She holds them up to me. A full house.

I turn around, my back to her. I can't talk to her about this. Doesn't she get it? I can't talk about this to anyone.

"I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you want to hear. But every since you sacked Ste...Bren, don't you understand? You're trying to replace him."

Don't turn around. Block out the noise. If I can't see anything, can't hear anything, it'll all be fine.

"You probably think I'm stupid."

No. I think you're a noose around my neck. I think you're setting me on fire. I think you're holding me under the water and not letting go.

"But I think I know how this works. You find another young guy, right?"

He was just meant to be a toy. Something I could play with.

"You give him a job. Keep him at arms length."

I didn't want him thinking he needed me.

"Then you start making him think you're his friend."

He began to trust me.

"You get him to open up to you."

He told me about his kids. About his life.

"And then you make your move."

He thought he kissed me first.

"Am I right?"

But it was always me. I always wanted it more, needed it more. He just never knew.

"Brendan?"

She comes closer. She doesn't make me look at her. I am grateful for that.

"It's okay if you miss him -"

She jerks from the shock of my sudden movement. I am off before she can call me back, taking the stairs two at a time, running like back when I was a kid. When I had to run from my dad. So fast that I can almost fool myself that nothing will ever catch me. But he would always find me. The pain would last a couple of days. The bruises would fade, the blood would run dry. But this...this has no end.

I have to get out of here, out of this village, away from everyone who knows me. I think about the boys' reaction back in Ireland, when they find out I'm gone. Eileen's smug face, her doubt in me being proved right. Maybe she is right, has been right all along. I can't do any of this. They're better off without me.

In my rush to get back to the flat, get the bare essentials together and get the first flight out, I don't stop when I crash straight into a figure standing outside the club. The impact causes them to fall to the ground. Just one more casualty in my life. I don't even bother to look who it is.

"Brendan!"

I register the familiar American accent, not exactly common in these parts. My hesitation lasts for less than a second, just long enough to hear the desperation in his voice. I'm done with him now. Our little deal is over. He and Lynsey can elope to Vegas for all I care. She'll never know about his past, not from me.

"Brendan, stop!"

He has to call louder now. I'm barely within his eye line anymore. Nothing's going to make me stop.

"It's Ste."

I falter on the steps, close to tripping up.

I want to tell him to fuck off, that I'm not interested. That Stephen and his new boyfriend, whoever he may be, can rest easy now. He won't ever have to see me again.

But something about Douglas's voice swallows my words. It's not just desperation now...it's fear. My head tells me to ignore it, to keep going and never look back. But something else inside of me screams that everything's wrong. My body knows it. As I walk back down the steps, my legs feel like they're going to buckle from underneath me at any moment. I feel cold, like ice is running over me. I smooth my hand over the cross that lies on my chest. An attempt to plead to whoever's up there to make this not be true.

"Douglas. I thought I told you that if there's any new information, you call me. You never, ever come to the club when there's other people around, do I make myself clear?"

It's essential that he doesn't notice how I feel like I'm shutting down, giving up. How I can barely speak these words, because my mouth is a desert.

"I know, I'm sorry - but this couldn't wait."

No God, please no.

"Go on then, what are you waiting for?"

Please Douglas, wait forever if you have to. Turn around and go back the way you came. Unknow what you know. Don't tell me. I'm not ready.

"Ste's in hospital, Brendan."

No. You're lying.

"He's been really badly hurt."

Stephen is at home, with Leah and Lucas. He's playing with them, making them cry with laughter. His face is lit up, in the way that makes him beautiful. He is perfect, untouched, whole.

"Do you want to see him?"

Stephen breaks away from the kids, because there's a knock at the door. He lets me in. He looks at me, the way he used to, like I'm the best thing that ever happened to him. He forgives me, for all of it. He forgives me.

"Brendan?"

Douglas reaches out and lays a hand on my shoulder. But it is wrong. It is all wrong. It is not the hand I need to feel.

"I don't..."

I don't know what I'm saying.

"You don't what?"

"I don't know where he is."

Douglas looks at me. I can see it in his eyes. He feels sorry for me. _Sorry for me. _I want to push him away, shout at him._ Don't ever feel fucking sorry for me. _But I can't, because he is the one who can lead me to Stephen.

"I can give you a lift, if you want. To the hospital."

I nod. If I had to walk now I'd collapse and never get up again.

He leads me to his car.

XXX

Douglas knows the exact room to go to. He must have seen them wheeling Stephen in. Looks like he really did commit to his part of the deal. He must really love Lynsey.

"This is it."

He motions to the closed door and stands behind me, ready to let me go in first.

I don't move.

"What's wrong?"

I can't open the door. I can't see Stephen surrounded by wires and monitors. Nurses prodding and poking. A patchwork of bruises, red and raw, covering his skin. The same skin which I have kissed and stroked and licked and imagined on every other man who isn't him. These men, they think they've occupied my bed during these last few weeks. But they haven't. An entirely different face has been there every time that I close my eyes. Long lashes. Full lips. Soft hair that was made for me to run my fingers through. A lightly tanned body, which I know better than my own. The non stop chatter, which I hear even when he is not with me. The three words, which he said to me just the once, on the steps of the SU Bar. The feeling that I got when I heard them, a mixture of being fucking terrified and angry with him, and being happier than I'd ever been in my entire life. All because Stephen Hay loved me. I'd heard those words before, from Vincent and Macca. I'd returned the favour by breaking their ribs. They weren't allowed to say those things to me. All I could do was fuck them. If they wanted love, they could find it somewhere else. I couldn't give them that.

But Stephen...

"It's okay, Brendan. I understand."

Douglas understands? He hasn't got a fucking clue. None of them do. All those people who think they know what me and Stephen are. They don't know the first thing.

Douglas knocks on the door. Does he think that'll make it easier? That if I don't have to step inside the room, I won't be able to see? That I won't imagine him lying there, eyes closed, like he's already dead? What if he never knows, what if I never get a chance to tell him -

The door opens. The last shred of hope that I have inside me melts away into nothing. It is not Stephen, weak but recovered, facing me, telling me that he had an accident, something stupid, like falling down the stairs.

"Amy."

Douglas has obviously already spoken to her. He offers no apologies or sympathies, probably having already exhausted them during his first trip.

He is not her focus. She pulls the door closed behind her, guarding off access between me and him. Part of me is thankful for it. This is one occasion where my imagination is preferable to whatever is in that hospital room.

"Doug, will you get me a drink from the machine?"

She doesn't take her eyes off me once.

Douglas looks from me to her, clearly unsure of what to do. I look at him, giving my permission for him to leave. Whatever Amy has to say to me, it can't be any worse than what's already happened.

It's just the two of us now. She's been crying, her eyes blotted with red, her eyelids heavy. She looks older somehow, her face tired and defeated. I have to remind myself that she's still only really a child.

"What are you doing here, Brendan?"

Even though I expected it, I can't help but be taken aback by the coldness in her voice. The insinuation that I do not belong here.

"I heard Stephen was hurt."

The words sound pathetic to my ears. Hurt is when you fall in the playground as a kid. Hurt is when you're picked last for the football team. Hurt is not lying in a hospital bed. Not when that person is Stephen. When it is Stephen, it is the end of everything.

"He's sleeping at the moment."

"Sleeping...so he's okay?"

"He's conscious, if that's what you mean. But no, he's not okay."

"But there isn't going to be any lasting damage?"

I have to concentrate on the physical side of this. Him breathing, talking, walking.

"No. The doctors say he'll be out in a day or two."

I think about how less than twenty minutes ago, I was going to get on a plane. The idea of that now is impossible.

Suddenly, the desire to see him, to make sure that he _is_ still him, overwhelms me. I move towards the door.

"I'm not going to let that happen, Brendan."

"I need to see him -"

"I told you, he's sleeping."

"Then I'll wait inside. I'll be there when he wakes up."

"You think he wants that? You think he wants you anywhere near him?"

Why aren't you listening to me, you little bitch? I need him.

"Amy, get out of my way."

"No! I am not going to let you screw up his life again! He hates you Brendan. He told me so himself."

What? He hates me? He...

That day in the SU Bar flashes before my eyes again. Only instead of those three words, he says something entirely different. The opposite of love.

"You know, when I got the call that he was in the hospital, the first thing I thought was that it was you who put him there."

She slams the door in my face.


	7. Chapter 7 Ste

_*For people who aren't familiar with Ste's past, this may be a bit confusing! But hopefully it'll still make sense. Feel free to ask me any questions if you don't know about his background.*_

I'm sitting in the alleyway. I can't move. I'm shaking it's so cold. I gather my jumper over my knees for warmth, like I used to do when I was a kid. For a second, it feels like I'm transported back to that time. The setting is different, the faces around me separate from the ones I'd grown up with. But here I am, like back then, alone, looking in on something that I can never be a part of. Believing that I can magic love out of nothing, letting myself believe in happy ever after, like in some fucking fairytale that doesn't exist. The prince isn't going to come and save me.

Leah and Lucas have grown up with me telling them that if they want something badly enough, they can get it in the end. That people are good. That evil is something reserved for storybooks, something far far away. I wonder what they'll do, when they're older and meet the Brendan Brady's of this world. The person who will take your old life from you, rip it up, tear it to shreds, and create something new. You think it's something better at first, something so fucking incredible that you want to hold it up and show the world. See, you want to tell them all, this is the person I've been wanting to be all my life. He's done that. He's made me be that person.

Then, you realise you cannot hold it up. It's secret, you see, not for anyone to know about.

And it comes with conditions. Don't touch him too much. Don't need him too much. And whatever you do, don't love him too much. He will punish you if you do. But by then, you're already in it so deep that you don't have a hope in hell of getting out. Sure, you can try a few times. Stay away from him. Get a girlfriend, or even better a boyfriend. That'll _really _piss him off. Get right up in his face, look him straight in the eye, like you're the big I Am, and swear you don't want him. See how long that lasts. Because your heart is his, however much you know that's stupid, and sentimental, and the most dangerous thing you've ever done in your life. He owns you, and you're not even sure you want him to let you go.

I know, sitting here, watching the lights all dim into darkness in his flat, that this is the way it's going to be from now on. I will love him, because I don't have a choice. No amount of running from it can stop me from lying awake every night, imagining him lying next to me. His arm around me, so real in my mind that I'll have to stop myself from reaching out and locking my fingers through his. Something he'd never let me do, because hand holding definitely wasn't on the list of things he'd allow. It would be a step too far for him, something which would undoubtedly lead him to close up, withdraw himself even further from me.

But he can't control my thoughts. He can't stop me from acting it out in my dreams. I don't have to be asleep to think of him, though. I know he will be there in the day, too. I can't leave, go and live somewhere else, because of the kids. Anyway, it wouldn't matter. He will follow me wherever I go. I could travel halfway across the world and I'd hear his voice, his laugh, remember every line, every curve of his body. All perfectly stored memories, ready to reveal themselves and suffocate me with their intensity.

I have no choice but to stay. To go on as if nothing had ever happened. To work for Tony, to watch Leah and Lucas go to school, graduate, get married, have children of their own. Maybe I'll find someone too, in time. Someone who makes me laugh, who listens to me, someone who will make me feel good about myself. It won't be settling, or second best, or anything like that. I'll love him. But it'll never be anything more than that. He'll never know that there's a whole different kind of love that I've experienced. The kind where you'd die for someone. People may think that's selfless. But it's not, not for me. I'd die for them, because the thought of living in a world where they don't exist is impossible. I wouldn't even consider it. I die, so he lives. I'll never have that kind of love again. I can feel it in my bones, in the core of me.

Brendan is that kind of love. Only him.

I pull myself to my feet. It is completely silent. Everyone must be asleep, safely inside with their families, their friends. But I can't go home. It feels like the sooner I go back, the sooner it'll be morning. I might see him in the village, with Doug. Exchanging secret smiles, like we used to. Dancing that dance, that we perfected. Only this time, the partners have changed. The song isn't the same.

There's only one other place I can go. I know the address by heart, even after all these years, so much so that when I finally find a cab after walking to town, I recite it word perfect. I look out the window on the drive there, marveling at how nothings changed. The same torn down council blocks, the same broken glass shattered all over the estate. It's as if times stood still.

I pay the driver with some rolled up notes that I find within my jeans pocket. I remember being ten years old, standing in this exact spot, looking up at the skyline, wondering if I'd ever get out. There were no stars in the sky then, just like there aren't any now. It's not like I expect to see them in Chester. But I remember thinking that it wasn't anything to do with where stars decided to settle, or whatever my ten year old brain wrongly thought about astronomy. It somehow seemed that stars weren't here because nothing that beautiful could ever exist in a place like this.

The flat looks so normal, from the outside. Just four walls and a door. I think about the time I spent here, afraid to go to sleep at night in case I never woke up again. I used to imagine him in my nightmares, creeping in when I wasn't ready for him, strangling me until I was cold to the touch. He always seemed impossibly big, even when I reached the stage where I could face him without him towering over me. I would try to pretend to myself that as long as I could look him in the eye, I was somehow brave. It didn't matter, though. All the pretending in the world couldn't stop me from feeling like no matter what I did, or said, he would always win. I'm tired of losing.

I bang on the door. The urgency of it surprises me. I don't feel in control of my own body anymore. First with walking to Brendan's flat, now this. I know how reckless everything I've done tonight is. Amy would never forgive me if she knew. I think that's why I never even considered telling her, not for a second. She'd have talked me out of it, locked the door to stop me from leaving if she'd had to. And I had wanted to leave. Badly. But not to come here. This wasn't part of the plan at all. Then why am I so desperate now for him to let me in? I feel the adrenaline racing through me just at the thought of it.

You know how when you're a kid, everything seems so much bigger, so much more...overwhelming, somehow? I remember when my mum used to take me to the park. We only went a couple of times, she was usually too hungover to want to go out at all. But I think she liked taking me there, because I'd leave her alone. I'd be free, lost in my own world. She'd try to doze off on a bench, and I'd run around, looking at the ducks in the lake, watching the other children playing.

The lion was my favourite, though.

It was a statue, in gold - well, what I believed at the time to be gold. It terrified me, the first time I saw it. I watched as the other kids climbed it, laughing and fighting over who could sit on its back. I wondered how they could be so fearless. Weren't they afraid of falling, of getting hurt?

My mum saw me looking at it, once. She told me to get on it. There was no question there, no room for getting out of it. I think she wanted me to be like everyone else. And I so badly wanted that. To be normal, to be good, to play the game. I often wondered if she was right, when she said there was something wrong with me. That maybe that was why my dad had left, and why she couldn't bear to touch me. I wanted her to love me, back then. So I climbed onto the lion's back.

It was high up there. I felt like I could see the whole park from where I was. My hand's were clammy, slipping across the smooth statue so much that I thought I would fall off. But somehow I managed to cling on. My mum didn't even really care, in the end. She was already yelling at me to come home. But I remember something building in the pit of my stomach. Something like...pride.

Years later, I returned to that park, that same spot. The lion didn't look gold anymore. It had turned to rust. And it looked small, so much smaller than I remembered. I wondered what I had been so afraid of. I wonder if I'll feel that now.

The lights come on in the house. Only a small one, the barest flicker of warmth.

"Ste."

It's him, as I hoped it would be. It's the first time I've ever been pleased to see him.

I expect him to shout at me, ask me what the fuck I'm doing at his house at five o'clock in the morning, waking up the whole neighborhood. But he seems too shocked to say another word. This is good. I thought I came to hear him speak, to get some answers. But now I realise this isn't really about him at all.

"Where's Pauline, Terry?"

I can't call her mum. She's no more my mum than he's my dad.

He regains some composure. He looks old, tired, and somehow it has nothing to do with the fact that he just woke up. A lifetime of misery, etched on his face. But I don't care about his suffering. He's never cared about mine.

"She's asleep. What are you doing here?"

I ignore his question. "So you haven't killed her yet?"

It's what I've been expecting, all these years since I last heard from her. I was his favourite punch bag, the unwanted step son, the perfect target. But she was a close second. And when I left, I'm sure she got the prime position.

"What are you talking about?"

I tried to forget about her. I knew that if I wanted to be a different person, a better man to Amy, a proper father to my kids, then I'd have to cut her out of my life. So she stopped being my mum. She became a blank cross, missing from my family tree. But you don't just stop thinking of someone, do you? Not when they raised you, if that's what you can call it, the way she brought me up.

I push my way past him. In his surprise at my appearance, he is easy to get through, light as anything. It's almost easy to forget that he did anything to me, with those hands of his. With that body of his. Almost.

The house has that same smell from all those years ago. As if something has died there, and the stench is impossible to scrub away. The wallpaper is peeling at the sides, the remaining colour so distilled that it's hard to tell what it was originally meant to be.

Terry stands in front of me now, blocking me from going any further. I can see his eyes scanning over me, the wonderment in his face at how I've changed. It is not the look of a proud father, marveling at what a good job he's done, the joy at seeing the man his son's turned into. It is merely an inspection, him desperately trying to work out if he can take me. If I am still that same scared kid. I wonder what he sees, when he looks at me. What he decides. Am I still a rag doll, so easy to tear and pick apart? Or am I untouchable to him now, a competitor?

"Pauline."

I say it softly. I don't have to shout it. I know she will come. She never could sleep through a knock at the door, a ring of the bell. She was always muttering to me about the cops coming, taking away Terry for whatever scam he'd been part of that week. She'd make me keep watch, instruct me to spy through the curtain, see if they were coming up the path. She'd keep me home from school to do it. It didn't really matter to me. I couldn't concentrate at school. Nothing anyone talked about there made any sense to me. At least I felt wanted at home. I was useful to mum. I was her lookout, something only I could do for her, not Terry.

I recgonise the sound of her on the stairs now, tiptoeing. Terry doesn't take his eyes off me. She's still hidden by the darkness upstairs. She stops on the last step, before she has to come into the light.

"Come closer."

She hesitates. She doesn't need to tell me why. I know well enough by now.

"I don't care about your face."

She takes the last step. I don't even flinch. The bruise is recent. I have enough experience to guess that it's not more than two days old. It covers the whole of her right cheek, going over her eye, with the result that the eyelid is almost completely closed. She can hardly look at me.

"Let me guess. You fell down the stairs?"

I am being cruel, I know. I am not playing the role of the loyal son, comforting her, going to the police, murdering the bastard who stands before me. But I have stood in this spot a million times before, the same conversation, the same bruise. She will be here until the day she dies, covering her scars with makeup, hiding for days in the dark, still fucking the man who will one day kill her. Like mother like son, eh?

"You know me, Ste. I'm so clumsy. I banged my face against the door."

She is a master of deception. She should enter a contest. She'd win first prize.

"What do you want, Ste?"

Terry cuts through the bullshit. He knows this isn't a meet and greet. Your step son doesn't turn up at this hour to reminisce.

"Why didn't you tell me, Pauline? Why didn't you tell me about my uncle?"

I have tried to forget it. The knowledge that he existed, that he cared enough to leave me money. But I want to know about him. What he was like. If he ever tried to visit me. If he ever had any idea, about what my life was like. I hope he didn't. I'd rather he never knew, that he thought I was cared for, loved. Because the alternative...that he knew what was going on, and he never tried to help...I don't think I can handle it. No amount of money could make up for that.

"Oh for fuck sack, Ste." Terry has woken up. "You come here at this time, to ask about that bastard?"

"I didn't ask you." I look at Pauline. Please, tell me the truth. For once in your life, tell me the truth.

"You heard about the money?"

"Of course he heard about the money! The bastard gave him most of it."

I wonder if that's what this latest punishment is for. If Terry hit mum because she didn't suck it up for all those years, because she didn't play the dutiful sister role and secure the cash.

"Did he want to see me, Pauline?"

It is pointless. She has lost her voice. It is Terry's now.

"What do you care? You got his money, why does it matter if he wanted to see you or not?"

That's what it amounts to for him. I've got his cash, so I should shut up and stop asking questions. Never mind that I grew up thinking my own uncle was dead.

"Ste, I think you should leave."

She's only allowed to speak if it echos Terry's thoughts. It is like he is pulling her strings. His very own Pinocchio.

The bruise on her face will turn yellow soon. A rainbow of colours, until it fades. It will be replaced soon enough.

I remember Terry coming to the park with us once. I wanted to climb the lion again, to prove to myself that it hadn't been a one off, that I could do it anytime I wanted to. But he had stopped me. _You can't do it_, he'd said. _You'll fall. _I saw this look in mum's eye, just for a second. It soon vanished, as she allowed Terry to lead her round the park, away from me. But it was there. I saw it. She wanted me to climb the lion. She believed I could.

"Mum." I want to be the son, one last time. Not a father, not a friend, not a lover. Just her son, in case it's not too late.

"Please." I am back to begging her again, begging her to trust in me. I wonder if she's even capable of it.

"Come with me."

Walk with me, mum. Away from this place, away from him. We'll go somewhere, just you and me, and talk about this. And then, when you're ready, you'll come home with me. We'll forgive each other.

But I can read it, in her eyes. They are different to the last time I saw them. There is nothing there. Dead. Gone. There is no way out of this.

Terry stands in front of her, her face disappearing from my view.

"Ste. You need to go. You've crossed the line."

I've crossed the line. A thousand memories come to me, now. Brendan, in my flat, the first time I'd seen him for a week since he hit me in the cellar. _You crossed the line, Stephen. I say when and where, not you. _I'd apolgised to him, feeling like it was my fault. I'd provoked him, I'd tried to take control - didn't I know that was his job? Another time, after the impact of his punch left me crawling on the floor, my lip bleeding. The next day, I'd come to work, seen him standing by the bar. Y_ou crossed the line. You know what happens when you wind me up. _My fault. It was always my fault.

I cried, the first time Terry hit me. I wasn't surprised, not even close. I think I had known it was coming from the first time I met him. It wasn't that I thought the worst of people. It's just that I saw the truth. The person behind the facade.I'd been in fights before, silly things, with lads my age on the estate. But this wasn't a fight. I had no part in it. He hit me, I lay on the floor and took it. Crying only made him hit me harder.

So I stopped. Swore that I'd never cry again, over a punch. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. And I didn't. Until Brendan.

_The people who you love have the power to hurt you the most. _I remember my counsellor saying that, when I went to anger management classes. I didn't think much of it at the time. I just wanted to change so badly, to prove to Amy that I wasn't a monster, that I didn't think much at first about the actual process of changing. The reality behind it, why I'd chosen to hurt her, why it had hurt her so much that it had been me.

With Brendan, I finally got it. Terry could leave scars. He could leave bites, and bruises, and draw blood. He could make me scream. But he couldn't make me cry. Because I didn't love him. I came to expect it from him, the beatings. It was just a part of my life. The worst part, but part of it all the same.

But with Brendan, no matter how many times it happened, I could never get used to it. Because I loved him. And that's why he had the power to destroy me.

What's so different, between me and mum? Protecting the people we love. I could have gone to the police ages ago, right at the start. Got Brendan done for assault. I thought about it, came close once. But even without him stopping me, I don't think I could have done it. What does that say about me?

"Mum, you're coming with me."

She may be dead already, but I can move her from this building if I have to. I can't save myself. It's too late for me. But if I can free her, then one of us has escaped.

I move past Terry. He is like the lion, smaller now, where once he seemed so big.

"Mum."

I reach out to her.

She is frightened, fucking terrified. This is all she's ever known, and I'm asking her to leave it. The beatings are her life now, not asked for, but expected. It's what's on the other side of that that she's scared of.

"Mum."

Maybe if I keep on calling her that, she'll realise that we are linked, tied together by blood. She is mine, and I am hers. She might have loved me once. It might make her come with me now.

Terry is behind me, constricting me, his hands on my throat. I try to fight him off, because I am a fucking adult, not his property, not before, not ever, but he doesn't let go. This is what it comes down to, me and him.

I think of Amy, fast asleep, believing me to be the same. Leah and Lucas, the only things I've ever got right. And I think of _him_, as I knew I would.

_Everyday until I'm in my grave, you'll always be in my head, Stephen. _

I never got a chance to tell him that he'd be in mine. And I guess this is it. This could be the end. I wish I could see him one last time.

Then everything goes black.


	8. Chapter 8 Brendan

_*Thank you for the lovely reviews! It's great to read them. Writing this has made me miss Ste/Brendan even more. They're so flawless, no amount of bad writing or new love interests can ever ruin them in my eyes. OTP always.*_

Chapter Eight

I have five missed calls from Cheryl. Three messages, asking if I'm okay. Kind of ironic, given that I'm the one untouched and unbruised, sitting in a waiting room, while Stephen is lying in a hospital bed, nurses moving in and out of his room every half hour. I see them, as I walk from my seat, back to his room. They've started to notice me now, out of the corner of their eye. The man who almost steps inside the room, but never quite manages to make it all the way. I guess I must look a little strange. One of them saw me looking, hesitating outside the door. Maybe she was braver than the others, used to people like me, not able to face what they know is inevitable.

"Are you family?" She gestured towards the room which I'd been exiled from for the past two hours.

I thought about her question. Nine times out of ten, I'd have laughed it off. Denied it with every fibre of my being. I am not Stephen's family, I would have said. I'm not even his friend. Nothing connects us, not now, not ever.

But I took in her relaxed expression, her easy demeanor. She didn't know me from Adam, didn't expect anything from me. My answer didn't really mean anything to her, not in the long run.

"Yes. I am his family."

It almost felt like a relief, to say those words.

"I'm sure he'd want to see you."

I'm the last person he'd want to see. Amy told me, spelled it out for me loud and clear. He hates me.

"Are you okay? You seem...nervous."

"I hate hospitals."

It's not a lie. I hated them when Amy had to come here after the fire. I hated them when Stephen put me in here. And I hated them long before that.

"Well, when you're ready to see him..."

She walked into the room, and I let my eyes linger just long enough to let me see Amy, standing by his bedside. She looked like she'd been crying again. I had to stop myself from following her in there, seeing what was wrong, if Stephen had taken a turn for the worst. I wasn't under any illusion that Amy would tell me, if something like that happened. Her refusal to leave Stephen's side wasn't just for her benefit, I was sure.

She was protecting him. Guarding him. From me.

I knew I should go home, see Cheryl. Apologise for the way I had acted before, or at the very least answer one of her calls. But it felt like part of someone else's life now. All that I could feel, or see, or hear, was inside this hospital.

I barely register when Douglas sits beside me in the waiting room. I thought he'd left hours ago. I wish he had.

"Here." He holds out a sandwich, one of those pre packaged ones in the plastic container. Usually I would take it, finish it in two seconds flat. My appetite is a sight to behold. But now, looking at it makes me feel sick.

"No thanks."

"Come on, you've got to eat something."

"I said no thanks, mum."

He gets the message. I don't like to repeat myself. Puts the sandwich in his bag, opens up another one for himself.

"I phoned Lynsey."

Great. He's doing this whole small talk thing. Can't he take the hint?

"I told her what happened. She said she'd tell Cheryl."

"So?" I say it with every ounce of contempt that I can manage. I need to get him out of here, and fast.

Unfortunately, he ignores my tone.

"So, she must have called you by now - Cheryl? Have you spoken to her?"

"No."

"Why not? She must be really worried about you, Brendan."

"Well, I'm sure you could talk to her, reassure her. You seem to be doing enough talking for all of us, Douglas."

"I think she'd rather it came from you. She probably thinks you're -" He stops. Pretends he's eating when really he's hoping I'll forget what he was just about to say.

"Probably thinks I'm what?"

He swallows, his adam's apple bobbing up and down nervously.

"You know..."

"Douglas, if I had any idea of what that pea brian of yours was thinking, then I wouldn't be asking, would I?"

"She probably thinks you're going to do something stupid."

Thanks, Chez. Nice to know how highly you think of me.

"And why would I do that?"

He shifts around in his seat uncomfortably.

"Because...it's Ste, Brendan."

"Thanks for the clarification. Up until now I thought it was Goldilocks and the three bears lying in that hospital bed."

"What I mean is...this isn't some random person who goes to the club, or some distant relative you've met once in your life...or, even me. This is someone who you -"

"Isn't it your bedtime, Douglas? You need your beauty sleep, to maintain those delicate looks of yours."

He shrinks back from my face, which is now inches from his. I wasn't planning on intimidation quite so early in the evening, but sometimes, spontaneity is key.

But my little American friend surprises me. He settles himself even further into his chair, and takes out a drink. He looks like he's getting comfortable for the night. Has he forgotten who he's sitting next to? The things I could do to him?

"Maybe I will call Cheryl. I can pass on a message to her for Lynsey. It'll begin with drugs, and end with you."

He sighs, and turns to me.

"Look, I know you want me to go."

"Wow, Douglas. Are you sure you weren't accepted to Oxford, with those deductive skills of yours?"

"Will you just listen to me for a second?"

Wait. He's bargaining with me? Does he want to book himself a room in this place, or does he think this whole naivety thing is cute?

"I can help you."

"And what makes me think I need help? And from you, of all people?"

"Because I'm the one who called the ambulance for Ste."

Is it possible to actually stop breathing, and for no one to notice a thing? To not turn blue, or collapse on the floor, or make one attempt at struggling, of alerting anyone? To just...stop, and wonder how no one else has stopped too.

"Are you alright?" It sounds like he's asking from far away. His voice is barely a murmur.

"Brendan?"

I have kept myself alive these past few hours, ever since I got the news, through the idea of seeing Stephen. I have kept one foot moving in front of the other, because I told myself that I had to stay strong, for him. I had to see his face, to witness the colour on his cheeks, the signs that he was going to be okay.

I couldn't stop the questions that invaded my mind, though. So many that I thought that when the time came, I wouldn't be able to speak a single one, so many I'd have to choose from.

What happened to him?

Who was involved?

Who found him?

Who tried to help him?

Who do I have to kill?

Because I will, if necessary. I am not afraid. There are no doubts. I have been to prison once, and I will do it again if I have to. For him, I will.

Now the boy who sits beside me could hold all the answers, the answers that I only expected Amy to have. I force myself to hear his words, to see his face. To transform a murmur into the truth.

"What happened?" It comes out as a croak, as if I am coming out from a deep fog, waking from a deep sleep. "Tell me everything."

I see him move his whole body towards me, his full attention focused. He knows now is not the time to mess around.

"I followed him, Brendan. Like you asked. After I met you at your place, I went into town, to meet a friend for a drink. We were there for a little while -"

"I don't need your life story, Douglas. Tell me the essentials."

"When I came out, I saw Ste. He was getting a cab. I thought it was weird, seeing as how he's up working for Tony early every day, and with his kids...I thought he must have been meeting someone important. Another guy, maybe."

I feel my hands clench painfully.

"I got a cab, and asked the driver to follow him, but to keep a bit behind so he wouldn't notice anything. After a while, he stopped at this council estate. I watched him, from down the road. He went inside."

I swallow. "And?"

"And...he wasn't there for long. I was going to ring you, to find out what to do next, because I didn't have any idea what this place was. But then..."

Douglas closes his eyes, as if what he's seeing is too much.

"I saw Ste."

"He walked out?"

"No." He looks at me. "He was dragged out."

I bite down on my lip to stop myself from screaming.

"He was covered in blood. He was just left there, outside the door. I tried to wake him up, but..." He falters. "I'm sorry, Brendan. I couldn't do anything."

"Who did this?"

Is that my voice, that said that? I can't recognise it. It sounds strangled, broken.

"I don't know -"

"WHO DID THIS?"

The receptionist at the desk looks at us disapprovingly. I see one or two of the other people in the waiting room glance our way.

Douglas has turned pale.

"I told you, I don't know. All I saw was a man, holding Ste, and leaving him outside his house. I've never seen him before -"

"Would you remember him?"

"What?"

"If you saw him again, would you remember him?"

"Yes, I think so -"

"Do you remember the house?"

"Brendan -"

I grab him by the scruff of his neck.

"Don't fuck with me, Douglas."

"Excuse me, Sir -" The receptionist is standing in front of us, trying to sound a lot more brave than she looks.

I see myself through her eyes, a grown man shouting at a terrified boy, who he's holding around the throat. I slowly move my hand away from him, and head towards the exit. I hear Douglas's footsteps following behind me, as I knew they would, as I hit the cold air, feeling it relieve my sweating forehead.

"Where are you going?"

"You're going to take me to that house."

He shakes his head. I want to hurt him for that one movement alone.

"We can't -"

I don't have time for this. I push him forwards, where I know his car is waiting.

"Brendan, stop!"

He tries to still me through his words, as I easily overpower him with my actions. He's already half way across the car park.

"Brendan! I can't even remember how to get there!"

I ignore him. All I can think of is this man, the man who he saw with Stephen. I will drain him of every last drop of blood that he has, even if I have to kill Douglas to do it.

"This isn't going to work!"

I push him harder. The sooner I do this, the sooner I can get back to the hospital. Amy might have reconsidered by then. She might tell me that he never hated me, that it's all been a mistake...

We are so close now, almost at Douglas's car. I think back to the journey that we took to get here, after he told me about Stephen. The short drive to the hospital felt like hours stretching out before me, vast and never ending. I had wanted to click my fingers and be there in an instant, but at the same time, I willed Douglas in my mind to go slower, to take a wrong turn, to drive somewhere else completely. By the time we arrived, I didn't know whether to run in the opposite direction or go straight to Stephen's room and discharge him myself, bring him back to the flat, where I would make sure he'd never be hurt again.

Now, there is no uncertainty. I am going to kill the man who did this.

"Doug."

A girl's voice, soft but panicked, calling to us from across a distance. What is she doing outside? Why is she not with Stephen? She must have seen Douglas's weak attempts at struggling out of my grasp, because she is calling to him louder now, and she sounds nearer, as if she is moving closer to us.

_Go back inside. You have to look after him, when I can't._

But she does not listen. She never listens.

"What are you doing?"

She has reached us now, just as I'm trying to find Douglas's car keys in his jacket.

"Where are you taking him?"

I will Douglas with my eyes to be silent. He always has failed miserably in this task.

"He's taking me to see Terry."

Terry? Who's Terry? Does he mean...does he know him, the man who did this? Has he been lying to me?

Amy might be a slip of a thing, but she knows how to make her presence felt when she wants to. She places herself between the two of us, forcing me to break contact with the only person who can get me where I need to be.

"You're not doing this, Brendan."

For the second time today, she is telling me what to do. Or rather, what I can't do. All the times I have threatened her in the past, and once again, she manages to hold all the cards.

"This is between me and Douglas."

A last desperate attempt to gain control.

"No, it's not. This is bigger than you two. Bigger than all of us. This begins and ends with Ste."

Doesn't she think I know that? Doesn't she realise that's why I'm doing this?

"You can't hurt Terry, Brendan."

"Who's Terry? How do you know him?"

Two of them now who seem to know who this bastard is. That's convenient. If I can't use Douglas, I can use Amy. It doesn't make a difference, really. As long as the result is the same.

"He's Ste's step dad."

For a second, I think I've misheard her. Ambulances are beginning to speed into the car park, their sirens flashing, and the noise muffles her words. I wish it could drown them out altogether.

"I tried to tell you..." Douglas trails off.

So he's been in on this the whole time. Exactly how long, I wonder? Did Amy tell him tonight, when he told her about the council estate, the address, the man? Or has he known for weeks, months? Has he been a witness to this whole part of Stephen's life that I never even knew existed?

"You're lying." If I say it's not true, then it won't be.

"Doug." Amy turns to him. "Can I borrow your keys, please? For the car."

She holds out her hand, and he looks from me to her, fear and confusion written across his face.

"Are you sure?"

She nods, once. "Do me a favour, will you? Stay with Ste, in case he wakes up. I'll be back soon."

He hands over the keys, laying them in her palm, then keeps his hand there for longer than necessary, as if he wants to withdraw them at any moment.

"Call me, if you need anything."

He thinks I'm going to do to her what I did to him. What does he imagine? Me forcing her to drive, locking her in the car until she follows my rules? I wouldn't have blamed him for his doubts, a minute ago. Now, I'm not so sure I could issue a single order.

"Come with me."

She climbs into the car. I get into the passenger seat beside her. It has begun to rain outside, the droplets falling thick and fast against the glass of the windscreen. I should feel safe in here, away from the smell of antiseptic in the building I have just left, sheltered from the conditions outside. But I feel enclosed, trapped. The girl next to me has knowledge that I have never had access to, and I have no idea what she is going to tell me. I am reminded of a very different incident a long time ago now, which left me with the same feeling.

_Rae's pregnant,_ she had told me.

I hadn't known, had never expected that she would be the one to tell me. It was like she had punched me in the gut, the breath knocked out of me.

I realise that I am now clutching my stomach subconsciously, ready for the next onslaught, the next punch.

The violence of the rain outside makes her move closer to me in the car, so that I can hear her. I see what this is doing to her, how hard she is finding this physical proximity to me. I stare straight ahead.

"He hasn't told you, has he? About...when he was younger?"

I don't have to ask who _he_ is. Stephen is the undercurrent in every conversation we have ever shared, whether she has been aware of this or not. He is our link, the tie that binds us, when both of us would rather be free.

"No. He hasn't told me."

I never asked. It made it easier, somehow. If he had no past. That way, I could tell myself he meant nothing. He was just a good fuck, that was all. Not a person with family, who had been the age of Declan and Padraig, once.

Sometimes, things slipped through the net. He would tell me about his favourite food when he was younger, a memory from school. But nothing too personal. I wouldn't let him get that far.

"He never had a dad, Brendan. Not one who wanted him."

He never talked about his father. Not one word. Or did I just not want to listen?

"He lived with his mum, Pauline. She was..._is_, an alcoholic. She made him feel like he was worthless, every day of his life."

I remember his words in the office, after Noah left for Newcastle, when he was trying to get back with me.

_Either you, Noah, some other guy who's going to mess me around. What does it really matter in the end?_

His face, defeated, like he was resigned to his fate. That there was nothing better out there for him. That he didn't deserve more.

"Then, when he was bit older, his mum started seeing someone. Terry."

The rain is so loud against the glass that I wonder if it will break, tear through our flesh. I feel as if it is digging in already, pushing itself further into my skin, blood collecting around my wrists.

"He beat up Ste, probably from the day they first met. Usually over nothing, things that were beyond his control."

I can hear the effort that this is taking her, saying these words that sound like they've been buried for a long time.

"I was there, once. When Terry...I saw it all, and I could do nothing to stop it."

I imagine her playing through the scenes in her mind right now, the memories vivid, clear. Did she see him crumple, fall like a paper doll? Did he cry, or did he try to fight back, defend himself?

I look at her face properly for the first time since we stepped into the car. She looks paralysed with grief, the torment of it threatening to tear down this image of bravery and toughness that she had to create to talk to me now.

It flickers a memory of my own.

My face, as I know it must have looked, when Danny Houston told me he was going to pay Stephen a visit. Hot, angry tears had forced themselves to the surface, before I knew how they had got there. I had seen Stephen's face before me, always open and trusting, even when he should have known not to be, not when it came to me. The thought of Danny getting to him, of him ceasing to be, of never seeing him again, had made me step over the line that I had never crossed, had never intended to cross, despite what everyone thought to the contrary.

I never thought I would have anything in common with a twenty one year old girl, but I don't have to even ask how Amy felt when she watched Stephen being hurt. I don't even have to ask.

"Why...why didn't he tell me?"

The question gives her renewed strength. The anger rises out in front of her like acid.

"Why would he? It would have made him feel even more weak in your eyes. Besides, it wouldn't have made any difference, would it?"

No. It wouldn't. Not in the beginning. It would have been just one more anecdote about his life that I didn't want to know, that I would have told him was useless to me. I would have let him know that we weren't here for talking.

But then the shift happened.

So slowly at first, so silently, that I barely noticed it, could ignore it if I wanted to. And I wanted to. Badly.

It started with the fire, at Il Gnosh. Amy was taken to hospital, and I was the one who told Stephen. I had found him in bed with Rae, had felt my stomach clench at the sight of them. I'd seen her hands on his face, pulling him into a kiss that I'd interrupted. I had remembered how soft his skin felt, like velvet, always making me come back for more. I had told him to take her out, to make her his girlfriend, so that no one would suspect anything was going on between us. But this hadn't been part of the equation. Her body, entwined with his gangly limbs, which already felt reserved for me. I hated myself for having that thought, but it came all the same. I hadn't had time to wonder why I felt so sick, to examine what I was feeling at all.

We had gone to the hospital together. He had seen Amy, spoken to the doctors, who had told him she'd be okay. But still, his face remained twisted with worry, his eyes downcast.

That was the shift.

I had wanted to touch him, to reach out to him. And for the first time, it had nothing to do with me. It wasn't a means to an end, a chance to fuck him. It wasn't a plan, like the one I'd had months before, to make him mine. I just wanted to be there, beside him. To let him know that it would all be fine. His pain was mixed with my own. If he was hurt, I felt it too. I remember how desperately I wanted to get out of the hospital, because I hated what I was feeling, what I was thinking. I didn't understand it. I just knew that I was overcome with a stronger feeling, stronger than wanting to leave. A feeling that I had to stay there, to get him through this. That same feeling led me to put my arm around him, draw him into a hug, something I'd never given him before. He had nestled closer to my body, warm against me. He was always warm. And I didn't know if it was him getting comfort from me, or me from him.

I had known, then. That as much as I had not wanted to know about his life before, I just as much wanted to know about it then. It wasn't something I'd ever admit out loud, not to him or anyone else. But it existed within me, the desire for him to belong to me completely.

"You can't go on some stupid revenge mission. Ste wouldn't want you to. For his mum's sake."

I recongise the truth in her words. Stephen, coming back to me time and time again, even when I thought I'd hit all of his belief in me out of him. Loyal, this one. Even to the people who let him down the most.

"He wouldn't want his mum to be hurt like that."

"No."

"I won't let Terry do this to him again."

Every time I speak his name, I recoil. To say it humanizes him somehow. It gives him an identity. He doesn't deserve one.

"I've told the police what he did, earlier. He's not going to be able to touch Ste."

Her words don't allow me to rest. I know the police. The mistakes they can make.

"What if that's not enough?"

Because it isn't, to me. This isn't just about whether Stephen is safe. Someone did this to him. I can't just walk away, can I? Leaving the bastard rotting in a cell isn't enough. I want him to know what it feels like, what he's done.

"It has to be."

I have never been her biggest fan. She has been a hindrance to my plans, acting against me rather than for me. Always at Stephen's side, meddling and keeping him from me.

But I find myself admiring her, now. She has left herself alone with me in a car, where she knows I could take the keys from her grasp, drive us to the police station. She would stand by while I did whatever I could to ensure that Terry was dead before anyone could move to stop me. I wouldn't care if the cops would be around, a deterrent. I'd only have eyes for one person. They could arrest me there and then, if they wanted. Just as long as I had done what I set out to do.

"I know you don't have to listen to me. You could find him right now, if you wanted to."

She has read my mind. It unnerves me, how this girl sees right through me sometimes.

" But I'm asking you, for Ste. Don't do this. You'll lose him forever, if you do."

She is tricking me. Manipulating me into staying here. She thinks I have already lost him, and yet here she is, dangling the idea in front of me that I still have some hold over him, that he could still be mine. But her tricks achieve her purpose. It is tempting, to stay. To be that much closer to him.

"If you stay..." I see her debating with herself, hesitating. "I'll let you see him."

She knows it is a game changer. The secret to me acting how she wants. It is the thing I have wanted since the moment I arrived at the hospital, the thing she has denied me. Now she is giving it to me, for a price.

She's smarter than I gave her credit for. I have tried to close myself off to her, to deny her access, but she has broken through.

"Do you promise?"

I hate myself for asking, hearing the desperation in my voice. But I need to know. For her to toy with me, to give me the world and then take it away...I don't know if I could live with that.

"Yes. I promise."

I open the car door and step out before she can stop me, before she can retract her words.

It is still raining, hailstones falling from the sky. But I do not flinch, do not make an attempt to run. It is fine, it is all fine, because it is leading me to him.

Douglas is waiting outside the room when we arrive inside. His anxiety melts as soon as he sees us. The surprise is clear on his face, his shock that we are here, that Amy is still in one piece.

"Why aren't you with Stephen?" I cannot hide the fury from my voice.

I cannot stop my fear from rising to the surface. I know Amy wouldn't lie about talking to the police. She'd want Terry behind bars, as soon as possible. But it doesn't stop me looking about us, checking for any unwanted visitors, any one who doesn't belong here. Douglas should have been with Stephen until we came. I want to shake him for leaving him alone.

"I wanted to find you. He's awake."

He directs this at Amy, as if I am not even here, as if I cease to exist. He has followed Stephen on my instructions, has told me that he was hurt, but as far as he's concerned, I am still barred from seeing him.

I look at Amy. If I go any longer without him, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the fullness of his lips, the way his mouth turns up with the slight promise of a smile, the sheer _aliveness _of him, I will lose my mind.

"We'll wait outside while you see him."

She is giving me permission. Douglas is confused, but makes no attempt to stop me. He doesn't have the power to. Amy never really did either, I could have brushed her aside like a stray leaf flying in the wind. But I needed her approval somehow, as if it's proof that he wants to see me too.

I cannot wait any longer. They both vanish from my mind. It is only him.

I step inside the room.


	9. Chapter 9 Ste

Chapter Nine

I have been sleeping. When Amy came in earlier she told me to rest, that it would stop me from focusing on the pain. I didn't argue with her. I wanted to close my eyes, to drift away from it all, to forget the things I'd seen, the reason why I was here in the first place, instead of at home in my own bed, like I should have been.

Then, when I woke up, I realised Amy wasn't there. It was a man, not a woman, sitting beside my bed. I had panicked, thinking that Terry had somehow come back for me, found me, and would finish the job. My rational mind knew this is be couldn't be true. Amy had called the police, she'd told me. And this man wasn't Terry. Even between barely open eyelids, still exhausted from trailing the streets all night, I could see that this man was shorter. Younger. I looked for the moustache, for the dark brown hair, the immaculate suit that he always wears, to show that he means business. But I found none of that. In its place was a knitted jumper, a pale complexion, nervous eyes which darted from left to right. Hands which wouldn't stay still. His chair, drawn up to where I was lying, the first sight to greet me when I woke up.

Doug.

He had left quickly, when he had seen my eyes opening. He had come in before, asked me how I was, but he had been with Amy at the time. Without her beside him, he seemed awkward, unable to think of anything to say. We still weren't friends, or anything like it. Conversation didn't come easily between us. Especially not after what I now know about him.

When the door opens again now, I think it might be a nurse, doing another check up. Or Doug coming back, this time with Amy acting as our mediator.

But it isn't. It is him.

"Stephen."

Who else would call me that? It's the first time I've heard his voice since he fired me, all those weeks ago. I have been afraid I had begun to forget the sound of it, the deep Irish lilt which only he possesses. It speaks to something inside of me, has the ability to change the entire atmosphere of a room, make me feel like I am home.

And his face. I have only seen it once lately, and it had been tainted somehow, because Doug had been the one looking at him, not only me. But there's no one else here now.

I have dreamed of him for months, years. Even when he was in my life, when I had some part of him, I would dream of him, because having only part was never enough. I realise now that my imaginings didn't do him justice. They were a poor imitation for all that he is. He is dressed in black, but it is as if the light has come in, is bathing the room with its glow. It has been raining outside, and he is soaked through, his hair damp, his wet shirt sticking to him, highlighting his sculptured form. His eyes are tinged with sadness, which he always tries so hard to hide. There is no spark in them, no glint of playfulness or confidence that so often lies behind. But they are still undeniably his, vast pools of blue that I could lose myself in.

I thought all the walls had already come crashing down, all my defenses against him broken by the relisation that I cannot forget him. But it still hits me now, seeing him like this. The knowledge of how much I have missed him.

"Sit down."

I need him to be next to me, close to me. I want him to lie on the bed, collect me in his arms, stroke my hair, undress me, kiss every one of my bruises, devour me whole. But the last vestiges of self respect I have stop me, remind me that he himself has caused many of the similar bruises I have had in the past. He has moved on, enjoyed the benefits of removing me from his life.

I am relieved about my self restraint when he makes no attempt to even move towards the chair. Is he that disgusted by me, that sick of me that he can't even stand to come closer?

I think there must be a trick of the light, because his eyes begin to moisten. He rubs at them quickly, furiously, as if he doesn't understand how they got like that.

"You look..." He stares at me in shock.

He doesn't have to tell me. I've looked in the mirror in the bathroom beside my bed. I wouldn't be surprised if Tony gave me the week off work when I get back, the way I'd scare the customers away. I don't understand how I can be awake, be breathing, after the way I look. There isn't an inch of my body that isn't covered in a mark, a bruise. I wonder if Brendan is repulsed. If he regrets coming to see me at all.

"Please sit down," I repeat. I have to be with him a moment longer, to breathe in the smell of him, the aftershave he wears, coupled with his own scent that I can never recreate in my mind. I know I'll lose him again soon. That he'll leave me. Doug might still be here. Maybe they'll go off together, back to Brendan's flat. Doug will leave hours later, with the smell of Brendan all over him, an indisputable sign that he has been with him. It may be desperate, pathetic, but I want to have as much of him as I can, now that he is with me.

He slowly moves to sit beside me. He is unsteady on his feet. I am not used to seeing him like this. He always moves with such determination, every movement, every action controlled, his message to the world that he is on top. There have been moments when his facade has crumbled. When I found out that he had killed Danny. When he told me he loved me. But I have never seen him quite like this, like all his concentration is focused on not falling apart. Is it because he feels guilty, for not caring about me? Does he feel bad that he's been fucking Doug, while I've been hurt? I can't think of any other reason why he'd look like this, why tears are now falling freely from his eyes, and he stops making any attempt to brush them away. I have never seen him cry before, not properly and unashamedly, like now. It feels like it's physically wounding me, like I'm the one who's opening up like this. I know he'd hate it, if I acknowledged his tears. I have to pretend I haven't noticed.

"How are you?"

He looks at me in bewilderment.

"Stephen, you're the one who's in hospital, and you're asking me if _I'm_ okay?"

"Don't worry about me," I strain my voice to make it sound as light as air. "It looks worse than it is."

He scoffs in diversion. I think I hear the word 'martyr' escape his lips. I focus my eyes on them, determined to hear every word, however quiet. I want to remember this, all of this when he's gone. But the shape of his lips distracts me. I want to reach out, press my mouth to his, rub my tongue against his tongue. Feel the warmth of his breath, pull him against me, forget that the door's not locked, that a nurse could walk in at any moment. Or even worse, Amy. I want to ignore the reality of what I saw with my own eyes between him and Doug. I will make him forget that Doug even exists. I will whisper words into his ear, words which will make my desire for him clear. I will leave him with no doubt, as my body melds against his, my hand reaching into his trousers, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Because it is. My body tingles with how much I want it.

"What were you thinking, Stephen?"

His voice interrupts me, pulls me from my fantasy. It is soft, but his intent is clear. He wants me to answer him.

"What do you mean?"

He shakes his head, as if trying to process something.

"You went to see Terry...why?"

So he knows. He is on a first name basis with the man who put me here. I feel suddenly exposed, naked. He knows about what happened, about a time in my life that I have always hidden from him. He has kissed me, fucked me, become closely aquatinted with every part of my anatomy. But he has never heard about my family, my family before Amy and the kids.

I had thought about telling him, once. But as Brendan's punches grew more frequent, when I realised he wasn't going to stop, I had known that I couldn't tell him. It would somehow seal my fate as the victim. Once was a mistake, bad luck. But twice was my fault, something that I half believed I deserved.

But now, he is asking me to admit the truth, to shine a light on my own fragility which I have denied from him.

"I wanted to talk to him."

How can I explain how I felt after I had seen him with Doug? How I wanted to know why I came back to someone like him, time and time again. I hadn't seen my mum in years, had avoided any attempts that she had made to contact me. But after what I saw in that alleyway, I had needed to see her. Her, and Terry. I wanted to ask her what it was about me, whether it was something in my DNA that made me a masochist. And I had needed to see him, to come away leaving him feeling helpless for once. A desperate attempt at punishing Brendan I suppose, through hurting Terry instead. How can I possibly make sense of all that to Brendan, in a way that won't make him walk away?

"You're an idiot."

I flinch from the sting of his words, from the words themselves. He has said them in different terms before, that I am not clever enough, not smart enough. He shouldn't have bothered. I know that already. But he's never said it with such venom before.

"What?"

"Do you have any idea what you've done? What could have happened?"

Is he blaming me for making him come here, for forcing Doug to leave his side? Did he want a clean break, to never see me again?

"You don;t think at all sometimes, do you? You didn't stop to think about your kids, about Amy."

He falters, looks away.

"About me."

I don't understand. I want to tell him that, but I sense that he is nowhere near done, that I should let him finish. His tears are leaving tracks down his face as they fall.

"You could have...you could have been killed, Stephen. You must have known that, going to that psychopath's house. Did you want to die, is that is? Did you want to get back at me?"

"No!" I have to cut in. "Of course not! Why would I want that?"

"Because you knew what it would do to me!"

_Do to him? _What effect could I possibly have on him anymore? Why is he talking like this, like I mean something to him, when every action of his has told me loud and clear that I am nothing to him, an annoyance that needs to be removed?

"I'm sorry." I hate myself for apologising to him, for making myself the one in the wrong yet again. But I feel like I owe him something, like I have wounded him in some way, despite the fact that the idea is ridiculous. It suggests that I have power over him, when in reality, he possesses it all.

"You're sorry?" It sounds like he is throwing the words back at me. "You think that makes it better, that it makes up for you lying here, looking the way you look?"

So he is disgusted by me.

"I wish it had been me."

He whispers it. I wonder if I have heard correctly, until he repeats it.

"I wish it had been me."

He seems to have finally noticed that he has been crying. He blinks several times, as if trying to stanch the tears, make them go away. The mask is coming back up, and I want to pull it down again, because I do not understand what he has told me, what he has revealed, what it all means.

"Did Amy tell you about what happened?"

It is easier to ask questions, to get the facts, rather than the feelings.

"Yes. And Douglas."

Hearing him mention Doug's name hits me harder than I thought it would. I don't want to picture them together in my mind. I want them to be as separate as possible, worlds apart. But I have to know about them.

"Amy told me Doug found me."

She had asked him in front of me, why he had been at the house, why he had seen Terry leaving me on his doorstep. He had fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other. He's a terrible liar. He'd never make it as a poker player. He had spouted some rubbish about being in the area, of it being a matter of chance. Amy clearly hadn't believed him either, but she had let it go when he hadn't expanded, telling me that the most important thing was that he had found me, however he had.

"How did Doug know where I was?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Because you're sleeping with him. Because you might have been the last one to talk to him, before he found me bleeding.

"You two are...friends, aren't you?"

I watch his reaction carefully, but he doesn't give anything away.

"We're not friends, Stephen."

Doesn't he know what I mean, what I'm really implying? Or is he ashamed of Doug, the same way he was ashamed of me?

"So you don't know why he was there?"

"It was just chance. That's all."

Have they talked, made some kind of secret agreement to coincide their stories? Did one of them see me watching them the other night, and Doug followed me to make sure I kept quiet about their relationship?

It is them against me. I am fighting a losing battle. Amy will not want to get involved. She won't be interested in the whys and wherefores. Her focus will be on getting me home, making sure I'm settled, reassuring Leah and Lucas that the marks covering my body will fade. That daddy had a stupid accident, but that all will be put right. She doesn't care about the truth. No one is on my side. At one time, I deluded myself in believing that me and Brendan were co-conspirators, on the same team. We fooled the others at cards, making sure that he left with the winnings when I would sneak a look at the other players' hands. He knew what it was like, to have kids to support, to be willing to do anything for them. We would work alongside each other at the club. I thought that meant something. But now, it is just me, one one side. Brendan and Doug, together on the other.

"Amy told me you're going to be coming home in a few days."

He's changing the subject, shifting my focus away from questions he doesn't want to answer, my suspicions that he is trying to avoid.

"Yeah. I wanted to leave today, but they wouldn't let me. I'm missing a day of work."

He has his wallet in front of him before I have finished the sentence. He takes out a couple of twenties, holds them out to me. It reminds me of when we were first getting to know each other, when he would pay me for good behaviour, for Amy's tuition, for taking Rae out. He thinks things can be fixed with money, that no words are needed in its place.

"I'm not taking that."

I turn away from it, resisting the urge to place my hand in his outstretched palm, just to feel the familiar smooth sensation.

"Take it. You said it yourself, you're missing work. You need the cash -"

"Not from you."

I don't tell him about the amount I have in my account from my uncle. Doesn't he understand that I don't want his payoffs? Of all the things I've ever wanted from him, his hush money has never been one of them. Maybe he senses that I know about him and Doug, and he's bribing me for my silence.

"I'm not going to see you do without, Stephen."

It's strange, how when he lowers his voice like that, looks into my eyes with more intensity than is appropriate, I can almost believe him. I could fool myself that he just wants to look after me.

But I have to remember that this is Brendan Brady I'm dealing with.

"I'll be okay, really. Amy's still got her job, and I'll be back on my feet properly soon."

He reluctantly puts the notes back in his wallet. Part of me thinks he was just relieved to be doing something with his hands, a distraction from sitting next to me, trying to fill in the spaces. I can practically see his mind working as I look at him, his head full of ideas about what to do next, what to say, how to act. Probably wondering how soon he can escape.

I notice that he is shaking, ever so slightly. It must be because of his wet clothes.

"I've got some spare jumpers, if you want to change."

The image of Brendan in my clothes nearly makes me start laughing right here. I'm not sure he's ever quite approved of my style. When I've tried to dress smartly in the past, he's told me I'd stop traffic. Somehow, I knew straight away that he didn't mean it in a positive way.

I am expecting him to reject my offer outright, to tell me that he'd rather get hypothermia than look like me. But after a moment's hesitation, he agrees.

"Thanks. That would be good."

It's strange, to hear him say thank you. I can count on one hand how many times he's expressed gratitude for something I've done.

He goes into the bathroom to take off his wet shirt and jacket, closing the door behind him. I look for the largest jumper that Amy brought me, when she knew I'd be staying overnight. I can't give him any trousers, our sizes are too different. But at least he'll be a bit warmer.

I find a grey hoodie, which just about passes for something he could stand being seen in. I turn to the bathroom door, unsure what to do. I know now is not the time to be bashful. I don't think I could even have the right to be shy around him ever again, not after the things we've done. But things are different now. I have not seen his body unclothed since he told me he loved me, months ago. I have not forgotten a single part of him, though. His muscles, strong and defined, probably even more so now he's been to prison. I noticed it the first time I saw him after he was released, that he must have deiced to bulk up. A form of protection, I suppose. Then there's the scattering of dark brown hairs that map across his chest, a contrast to my bare one. The cross, that lies around his neck.

I remember everything. But remembering it, and seeing it are two different things. I'm not sure I could remain nonchalant, just stay quiet and pretend I don't want him, if I saw him like that. He'd see my desire in a second. I don't know what's stronger, my need for him, or my need to still have some control, to show him that he can't get to me.

I knock on the bathroom door, and hear him grunt in acknowledgment. I open the door, but face my entire body away from it, so that all he can see is my arm, holding the jumper out to him. I keep my face straight ahead, so that I am only looking at the wall in front of me. It is safer that way. I feel him take the jumper, and close the door.

I let out a sigh of relief, making sure he doesn't hear, so he'll never know how pathetic I am, how much effort that took. I turn back to face the bathroom door again.

That's when I see it. A flaw, in my not so brilliant plan.

He hasn't closed the door all the way.

Unlike before, there is a small, but visible crack, which stops him from being invisible to me. Now would be the time to once again choose the sensible option. This short time being out of bed has already made me feel sore. I could just climb back to where I was lying, and never have to look at him.

But unfortunately, I have rarely been one for making sensible decisions.

I look into the crack between the door, already knowing how much I will regret this later, how harder it will be when he says goodbye.

He is holding the jumper in his arms. He puts it over his head, smooths it over his chest. But just before he does, I see it. That chest, which I have fantasied about lying against, that sends shivers down my spine just at the thought. His muscles, even more prominent than I'd imagined them to be. I wonder what would happen, if I stepped into the room with him right now, and pushed him back against the tiled wall, using my hands to steer his chest?

He is wearing a belt. I want to take it off, my haste to have him probably making my hands shake in the process. I want to unbuckle his trousers. He wouldn't be cold anymore from the rain, because I'd push my legs up against his to keep him warm.

But the chance is gone. Just like that.

He is fully dressed, looking far better in my clothes than I ever have. And I realise how crazy I am being, watching him like this, without his permission.

I move as quickly as I can back to bed, wincing in pain as I do so. I get there just in time, before he comes out of the bathroom. He doesn't give any indication that he knows what I did.

"What do you think?" He points to the jumper.

How does he want me to react? With the truth, that he looks fucking incredible in it, and everything else he wears? That I have just been fantasising about taking off the clothes he now stands before me in, throwing them in a messy heap on the floor, as I beg him to push himself inside of me?

"It suits you."

Sometimes, you have to find the only version of the truth that is acceptable.

"I'll bring it back to you as soon as I've gone home and changed."

So he's really going to come back? What if I'm out of hospital by that time? Will he visit me at work, or come to the flat? Or will he find some excuse to never come?

"Thanks."

He sits uncomfortably back in the chair. His eyes lock on the vase of flowers that Amy brought, something to cheer up the room.

"Where are the grapes?"

"What?"

"You've got flowers...aren't there meant to be grapes?"

I imagine him sitting beside me, wolfing them down, licking his fingers, in that way he does.

"No...maybe I'll buy my own."

"You can't buy your own grapes, Stephen. They're meant to be given. It's tradition."

He seems to like this subject, finds it easier than talking about Doug, or Terry, or how I am now. It is familiar territory, his safe ground. I want to play along, but I'm not sure I can. How can I waste time on talking to him about hospital traditions, when I could lose him at any moment?

"Did Amy bring that in?"

I follow his glance to the laptop that is lying against the desk by my bed.

"Yeah. She thought I'd get bored, so she's been trying to get me to listen to some music."

"Why don't you play something?"

The last time he asked me to do this, we were at his flat. I was close to getting drunk, not sure whether I should take the glass that he handed to me. But it had felt like a lads night out, part of the experience. He had said to me, _Want to put some music on? _I was confident around him then for the first time, decided I could try my luck in teasing him. _You do it_, I had ordered.

I pick up the laptop. Amy's left it open on itunes, and I pick the first song that I see. I'm not sure what Brendan likes. He usually spends most of the time mocking the club tracks that play at Chez Chez. I can't see him approving of what Amy's chosen.

The song starts. I put the volume up louder, and I begin to recognise it. It is some 80s hit, but sung by a different singer, a different arrangement. Where once it is upbeat, something you could dance to, it is now soft, soulful. I never focused on the lyrics before, only the music. But now, stripped back like this, I have no choice.

_The world was on fire_

_No one could save me but you_

_Strange what desire will make foolish people do_

_I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you_

_And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you_

_No, I don't want to fall in love_

_With you_

_What a wicked game you play_

_To make me feel this way_

_What a wicked thing to do_

_To make me dream of you_

Brendan rises from his seat.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll see you, Stephen."

He collects his sodden clothes in his arms and walks out without a backward glance. I switch off the music. Silence fills the room. He has only been gone for a second, and yet it feels like he was never here at all. There is no proof of him being in this room, no sign that he spoke to me, that for a moment I believed he actually cared.

Before I can compose myself, paste on a smile so I don't alarm anyone, Amy comes through the door, in her urgency not even stopping to knock.

"Brendan just left, he seemed -"

She breaks off when she looks at me. I try to look as normal as possible, but it's too late.

"Ste." She takes my hand in hers. "What's wrong? What did he do?"

She always blames him, expects the worst, even when it isn't his fault. I want to tell her that it's not something he's done, not this time. It's all me. I've messed this up, because of the way I feel about him. My inability to let him go.

"He upset you, didn't he?"

Making excuses for him will only make her angrier.

"I shouldn't have let him come in here."

I want to laugh, because the idea that Amy _let _Brendan do something is stupid, impossible. He doesn't live by other peoples' rules, or restrictions, especially not when they are coming from someone like her.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted him."

"Amy -"

"No, Ste. Look at you! You were fine when I last spoke to you, and now you look like..."

I wonder what I do look like. I'm trying so hard to reassure her, to be okay. But it doesn't seem to be working, not anymore.

"I should have realised. He's never going to change."

There's bitterness in her voice. I think about how much the roles have reversed. Once upon a time, it was me trying to stop her from trusting him, from liking him, when he was trying to use her as his drugs carrier in one of his many dodgy deals. In a way, it would be so much simpler if she had stayed that naive.

"Are you listening to me?" She taps my hand.

"Yes. I'm listening."

"I don't think you are. You never do, do you?"

This isn't like her. We don't argue like this, not anymore.

"Amy, I really don't need this right now. I'm in hospital, if you hadn't noticed -"

"It's exactly because you're in hospital that I'm saying this. Do you want to end up back here again, from something he's done to you? Do you want to be like Pauline, never knowing if he'll go too far one day, and you might not wake up again?"

She is crying now, not for the first time today. Her eyes are already red and raw. She loves me, I know. That's why she's saying this. But sometimes, her love feels like a trap.

"Come here, Ames."

She climbs into my arms. A nurse will probably be in soon, will tell her to get off the bed, that she might lie on my bruises. But if feels nice, to be close to someone like this again.

"Swear to me that you'll never go back to him," she whispers against my chest.

Sometimes, telling a lie is easier than telling the truth. Sometimes, it's what you need to do, for another person, even if it rips you up inside.

"I swear. I don't want to go back to Brendan. I don't love him."

It is the biggest lie I have ever told.


	10. Chapter 10 Brendan

The music is so loud my skull feels like it's splitting the moment I arrive. It's the usual shit playing, some dance track which achieves its mission in getting everyone up, attempting to move to the rhythm, their drinks spilling on the floor when they lose their footing. The fluorescent lights of the club act as a spotlight, shining on unsuspecting victims, turning their skin an unattractive shade of pink or green, depending on the colour chosen. It is the kind of tacky place that you expect to find in Ibiza or Magaluf, anywhere but Chester. I fucking hate places like this, but I don't have time to travel further to one of the better clubs, spend half an hour sussing out who's not there to take a woman home at the end of the night. At least here, I know what I'm dealing with. It'll have to do.

I choose the one sitting by the bar, watching his friends as they dance. I can see he's starting to tire, itching to get out of here. His luck's in.

I draw out the stool next to him, order a drink, a shot, throw it down my throat, relishing the way it burns.

I look him up and down. He's young, has one of those annoying faces that will probably look forever youthful, while we all start rotting around him. Dirty blond hair, a slim build. It's time to quit messing around.

"Hi."

I move closer to him, leaving him under no impression that it is him I am directing my attention to. I can tell how this is going to go the minute he looks at me. Not that I was in any doubt before. He might as well be drooling, the way he stares at me.

"You alright?" He says it a little nervously, as if he isn't use to this sort of thing. Maybe he's a first timer. Even better.

"Want to get out of here?" I stare at his lips, licking my own ever so slightly in the process.

He is taken aback. "We just met..."

Come on. Don't tell me he comes to a place like this and expects to go home alone?

"So?" I whisper it, inches from his face.

"Well...what's...what's your name?"

Oh, for fucks sack. What is it with these boys? Why does everything have to be some fucking courtship? What's your name, where do you live, tell me about your family, your job, your fucking whole entire history.

"Peter." It's the name of someone I knew, a long time ago.

"I'm Paul."

Whatever. I forget it the minute he tells me.

"Lets go."

"Now? You're a bit forward, aren't you?"

"What's the point in wasting time?"

I place a hand on his thigh, slowly bringing it up higher. His reluctance to leave is making me act like a desperate queer. But it works, this persuasion.

"Where do you want to go?"

A suggestive smile is beginning to spread across his mouth now. I've got him, hook, line and sinker.

"Back to my place."

Cheryl's at Chez Chez, so I have a good couple of hours until she comes back.

Just to make sure though, I call out her name when I open the door to the flat. Darkness. No reply.

"Come in."

I stand back so that he has to squeeze past the small bit of available space between us to get inside. He brushes up against me, as I had planned. I feel my cock harden.

"Nice place you've got here."

I cut through the pleasantries by ramming my tongue into his mouth. He breaks away, shocked, but then grabs my face in his hands, kissing me back. He tastes of beer and smoke. I unzip his jeans as I explore his mouth, put my hand underneath his boxers. I want to see what he's like.

I fist his cock, giving a gruff laugh when I hear him moan against my throat. He's large. I'll have fun, with this one. He tries to kiss me again, but I stop him, laying a finger over his mouth, a warning. He looks at me like he thinks he's done something wrong. Then he gets it, understands. I don't want to kiss him right now. There are other games to play.

I move to my knees, pulling down his jeans and boxers in one clean motion. His cock stands before me, erect now, just like that. He stares down at me, looking unsure, but wanting it, all the same. I decide I will keep him waiting, make him beg for it. I begin by holding my hand on the base, and give slow, small licks along the shaft. That alone makes him almost buckle in pleasure. Then I increase the pressure, my tongue moving faster, listening to the sounds he's making.

"Peter..."

That fake name, coming so easily to his lips. I have toyed with him enough. He has begged. The game has ended.

I put my mouth around him, giving him what he wants. It doesn't take long for him to cum, adding to my theory that he's a beginner at all this. I swallow, and climb to my feet again. His eyes look glazed, like he can't focus, like he's just woken up from a dream. I consider pushing his shoulders down, asking him to return the favour. But instead, I kiss him again. It is easier, my eyes closed like this, just his mouth and mine. It's easier to pretend that he's someone else entirely.

"What did you just say?"

His lips break free from mine, the area around his mouth slightly red from the ferocity of my moustache rubbing against his skin.

Why the fuck has he stopped?

"What?"

"You just said..."

He moves a step back, covering his arms over his body in a late attempt at modesty.

"What? What's the matter with you?"

I should have just fucked him, forgotten about the kiss. We'll be here all night at this rate.

"You just said Stephen."

I've never been so turned off sex in my entire life. I suddenly don't know how he got here, what I was thinking, what I have been doing all this time. I thought I had it all figured out. I would go to a club, find someone to play with, throw them out when I finished with them. I'd be in control the whole time. Never has my mouth played tricks on me like this. This is not me, saying things like this out loud, let alone thinking them. They have always been locked away, hidden from prying eyes and ears. What the fuck is happening? Why is he all around me, inside of me, following me, in my head and my fucking heart? I hate him for it, the way he won't let me let him go.

I realise that I am alone in the flat. The boy must have left. When did that happen? Part of me wants to call him back, to try to salvage this thing. But he could be anywhere by now. I don't have his name, his number. I didn't care enough to even entertain the idea of asking for them.

I suddenly feel so fucking exhausted that I don't know what to do. I can't sleep. I don't want to think about what I'll see when I close my eyes. There's only one other option I can think of that'll make all of this go away.

I go over to the cupboard, where my supply usually lies. But it is not there when I search, not hidden in any corner or tucked away by Cheryl, disapproving of my habit. It is always there, that bottle of Jameson. I didn't stock up when the last lot ran out. I haven't needed it lately. Not just because I haven't been able to access it, from being locked up. I didn't need it even before then, because I had Stephen with me. The promise of him kept me from searching for it.

Chez Chez will still be open. I lock the door behind me, making my way towards the thumping sound of the music. One of the advantages of being the boss is a free bar. Right now, I don't care if I am losing money for the club. I am going to take full advantage.

Rhys is manning the bar. I stand next to him, scanning the selection of drinks for what I'm after.

"Alright, Brendan? What are you doing here?"

"What do you think? I'm here to celebrate."

I give him a look, and select the Jameson and a glass, moving behind the bar once more to sit on an empty stool.

"Are you going to pay for that?"

I don't even bother to dignify that with a response.

"Because Cheryl's just in the office..."

"So she'll never know, will she?"

"Brendan -"

"Listen, Ashworth. I'm in charge here, okay? You want to keep your job, you'll keep that," I point a finger at his mouth, "shut."

Rolling his eyes, he goes to serve the next customer. I glug back the whiskey, some of it spilling across my chin in my rush to get it down. It is not working fast enough. I want to not know where I am, who I'm with, who I am. I want to wake up tomorrow with a clean slate, a new life. I want to be reborn.

Slowly, the music starts to fade away. The place begins to grow less crowded. The noise dies down. It is becoming darker, the lights being extinguished.

"Time to go, Brendan."

Rhys zips up his jacket, ready to face the cold outside.

I sneer at him. "You're telling me to leave my own club?"

"It's closing time."

"Then give me the keys to lock up."

"Cheryl has them."

"Cheryl!" I shout it at the top of my lungs, but it still somehow manage to come out as slurred. Rhys uses the opportunity of my distracted attention to scarper off.

"Cheryl!"

She emerges from the office, holding a stack of paperwork.

"Bren! What are you doing here? It's your night off."

"It wasn't originally meant to be my night off," I remind her, "Not until you changed the rota."

"Well, I thought after what has happened lately -"

"Ashworth said you have the keys."

"Yes, but -"

"But what?"

I see her eyes move over to where my hand grips the glass of drink.

"I think you've had enough."

She is wrong. I haven't had enough. Not nearly enough.

"Leave the keys on the table, Chez."

She looks like she wants to say something, or sit next to me and stay. I pray that she does neither. I feel her hand on my shoulder, lightly. The set of keys are placed in front of me.

"Be careful, Brendan."

She whispers it, so softly I think I have imagined it. I hear footsteps on the stairs. But they are not the only ones. Another pair pass her on her way out. I hear voices, exchanging words, then nothing.

The stool next to me is pulled out, occupied by a mass of brown hair, a figure hugging dress, lips made bigger, fuller by the gloss that covers them. The girl who hides behind her own creation. Mitzeee, with three Es. Or Anne. Take your pick. The last person I expected to see.

"What are you doing here?"

We haven't talked, not since she tried to convince me to lend her money weeks ago. She had said I owed her, for what happened with Foxy. Did she think I would fall for that? I don't owe anyone anything.

"I've come to you with a business proposition."

"A business proposition? At this time?"

"What can I say, I'm a busy girl."

The last time she came to me with a business proposition, I ended up with her tongue in my mouth, and protecting her from some sleazy photographer.

"Not interested."

"I've got a modeling job, and I need the club -"

"So you finally got some work, huh?"

Her eyes narrow. "At least I'm actually doing something with my life. What are you doing, eh? Drowning your sorrows in your own club, like some washed up drunk."

"On that note, I've finished the bottle."

I stand up to get a new one.

"Get me a glass."

I look over at her.

"Did you not hear what you just said?"

"Well, if you can't beat them, join them."

She takes a small sip, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.

"Have you gone to visit Warren?"

I almost choke on my drink.

"Yes, Anne. I've been to see him everyday. We exchange tales of our time behind bars and discuss our plans to move in together when he gets out."

"I'm just asking! I thought you might want to, you know. Rub it in. What you did to him."

"What _we_ did to him, you mean."

She stares down at her glass.

"Do you visit him?"

"No! Of course not!" She falters. "But it doesn't stop me from thinking about him, sometimes."

"Don't tell me you miss sleeping with a murderer every night?"

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm glad he's gone. I know he didn't love me, not really. He said he was going to kill me. And he would have done."

"But?"

"But..." she sighs. "He was my boyfriend, Brendan. You can't just...stop caring about someone overnight." She looks at me. "Well, I can't, anyway."

I pour myself another drink.

"I saw Ste today."

My hand shakes, the bottle missing the glass, the alcohol seeping onto the table.

"Oh yeah?"

I use my shirtsleeve to mop up the fluid, just in case she hasn't noticed.

"He just got out of hospital this morning."

I imagine his face, the way I saw it last, not an inch of skin uncovered by a bruise. Even his eyelashes, always so ridiculously long, looked different somehow. His body must have been the same. I saw him clutch his sides a couple of times. I had wanted to reach out to him, to stroke the area of pain, to heal it with my touch. But I hadn't been able to.

"Have you seen him yet?"

"Not today."

I don't know why she's still here, asking me these questions. Does she think I'll change my mind about her stupid photo shoot if she says these things to me? Is this her idea of sweet talk?

"Why not?"

Because I don't want to see him. He makes me feel things, when I'm with him. He makes me need him. It's easier, this way.

"Anne, it's late. I'm going to go home."

She snorts. "No, you're not. Until I came, you were going to get completely shit faced. More shit faced, I mean. Admit it."

"I am not even tip..tip...tipsy."

Who knew it was such a hard word to say?

"Brendan, you're one step away from me taking you to A&E with liver damage."

"You always were a drama Queen."

"And you always were in love with Ste."

I stop. Blink. "What?"

She smiles at me. "I may not be your favourite person right now, or ever, for that matter. I know our entire relationship pretty much revolves around convenience. I need help, you're there. Reluctantly, but you're there. You need help, I give you what you need."

"I don't need anything."

"Sure." She looks away from me, but I still catch the way she raises her eyebrows. "Anyway, as I was saying. We may not exactly be friends. But I know a thing or two when it comes to you. You can tell me as many lies as you like, feed me all the bullshit you can manage. But it doesn't change who you love. That's why you couldn't see him before. You're scared."

I put my hand on her cheek, turning her to face me.

"I don't fucking love Stephen. You think you can psychoanalyse me, like you know me? Who the fuck are you, Anne? Just some frightened little girl who hides behind a cover, pretending to be a slut. The only reason people know your name is because you slept with your dead aunt's husband. So what does that say about you?"

I expect her to pull away from me, to start giving me the water works. To scream, to give me some kind of reaction, any reaction. But she just keeps on looking at me.

"It probably says a lot of things about me, Brendan. But it doesn't make me wrong about this."

I move my hand away from her face. Foxy has hardened her. Made her tough. She is not the same girl she used to be.

"Okay, so you don't love him."

I look at her, confused. What is she doing?

"You feel nothing for him. You don't even care about him."

She's caught up.

"But..."

My hand tightens round the glass.

"Lets just say...hypothetically, that you do. That he's the...one."

The one. Like there's a fucking one. Like it exists, the most sickening, stupid idea I've ever heard.

"Why him? I mean, hypothetically. What is it about him?"

The wave of tiredness that I felt earlier hits me again. The club is dark now. It feels like the only noise in the world is our two voices, barely more than a murmur. My body aches, the result of having to keep this tension, this strength that stops me from finding Terry, from killing him, from going to Stephen right this second and telling him that the fucking song in the hospital was right. He is the only one who can save me. I used to be able to exist without him, once. But that time is unreachable to me now, gone forever. This is a half life, without him here. Worse. An empty shell, a decaying carcass. Nothing, without him to fill me up, to stitch me back together again.

"I don't love him."

I put my mouth around the Jameson bottle, not stopping to pour a glass now. It only prolongs the inevitable.

"But...hypothetically."

I take a deep breath, but it doesn't feel like breathing. It feels like I'm gasping, desperately searching for air.

"It wasn't meant to be like this. He was meant to be like all the others...nothing, meaningless. And he was, at first. Just some mouthy little git who was always in my face, interfering. Making things difficult. He was always beautiful, though. Fucking beautiful, so much that I started to think it would be okay to have him around, just so I could look at him. But then...he wasn't just beautiful anymore. He was still all up in my business, sticking his nose in. But it was...it unsettled me, in some way. The way he stood up to me. The way he challenged me. And how he talked, all the time, about a load of rubbish, really. I couldn't get him to shut up. It was annoying, and...endearing. The joy he had, in certain things. Like a child, discovering the world for the first time. But he was old before his years, too. Had all these responsibilities, these kids, this ex who relied on him. He'd do whatever it took, go to the ends of the earth for them. He reminded me of me, when I was that age. But with all of the good. None of the bad. And he began to...like me. Trust me. People in the village, they looked at me like they thought I was trouble. Malachy, always sniffing around, waiting for me to trip up. No one saw anything else in me. Except for Cheryl. But she had always done, it was the way things worked. Stephen didn't have to, I didn't force him to. He just saw that side...saw the good. When I kissed him...when I fucked him...it was like nothing else. I didn't understand, how he could be so...how we could fit together so perfectly, when I was his first. He was open. He didn't hold anything back. He gave himself to me, completely. Looked at me like I could do great things, like he believed I could fucking fly."

Have I just say all that out loud?

"I don't love him. But, hypothetically, if I did...that would be why."

Anne leaves her glass untouched. When she speaks, she is quiet. I have never heard her be so quiet. The layers of Mitzeee have pealed away.

"He told me once, you know. Why he loved you."

My head swims with this new knowledge. I don't know whether I am furious with him for talking about us to an outsider, or whether to smile with the possibility that he was proud of me.

"It was at that lingerie event that was held here. Two years ago, remember? I was your beard at the time. You were bored out of your mind, not even attempting to pretend you were interested in half naked women parading around in knickers. You weren't exactly being Prince Charming. So I asked Ste, when I saw him. I asked him what it was he could possibly see in you, as I hadn't got a clue."

It comes back to me now. Stephen, passing around drinks. Rae, pregnant at the time, laughing with the other girls. I had promised her that I wouldn't go back to him. That he was safer without me.

"He played dumb at first. But it didn't take much to get him to open up. This...smile came across his face. Small, but there. He told me you were protective, to the people you loved. Loyal. That you'd do anything for them."

He said that?

"I think I knew then. How he felt about you. I had thought it was just sex, something that didn't really matter. But when he said that...the way he said it...I should have known though, even before then. The way you two were kissing, when I first found out about you. There was something about it. Private. Intimate. Something you wanted to keep from everyone else. But not just because you didn't want to come out. Because you wanted him to be yours. Only yours."

Her words stab me, tear at me. Why isn't the Jameson working? Why do I still have the ability to feel this?

"Stop, Anne."

"I know how much you hate all this, Brendan. But Ste's not going to wait forever. What happens when he finds someone else? Someone else who's not like Noah, who you can't drive away with your little games? What if he's actually a decent person, and makes him happy? You'll lose him."

"He's better off without me."

"Oh, so this is you playing the hero, is it? Saving Ste from the big bad wolf? Did you ever stop and consider that maybe he wants you? That you don't have the right to make that decision for him, to be in his life or not? Look, the whole village knows about you two. There have been rumors for months. And I'm not saying that I approve of what you've done to him. Hurting someone is not loving them. But it's not always black and white. Love isn't some fairytale where everything ends happily ever after. Sometimes it's messy, and it's screwed up, and sometimes you'd rather be dead than experience it, because it's that painful. But you don't have a choice, do you?"

"No. I don't have a choice."


	11. Chapter 11 Ste

_*I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter! It was a tough one to write for some reason, but hopefully you'll like it. It definitely helps to set things up for the rest of the story...Thanks for the lovely comments. I really enjoy reading them and knowing what you think. I'm so looking forward to the upcoming Brendan/Ste scene on the 16th, even if it ends up being disappointing. I just want them together on my screen! And the fact that Kieron's been filming with Emmett lately is just fantastic. I need them back in my life.*_

Chapter Eleven

A crowd has gathered around Chez Chez. I shouldn't really be out. Amy's warned me to stay in bed and recover. But she's working in College Coffee, and I'd have gone stir crazy if I'd stayed inside another minute after two days spent in the hospital. I couldn't spend any more time closed in by four walls.

Now, I wish I'd stayed beneath the covers, watching some imaginary drama unfold on the television, rather than right here, in front of me.

Dodger's abandoned his stall selling the latest knock off goods to stand and gawp. Nancy's scribbling furiously on a notepad, her forehead creased in concentration. And there are others. I have to squeeze through to make my way to the front of the queue.

The last time it was like this, a police car was parked outside. Tape cordoned off the area. I watched as Cheryl was marched down the steps, like in some bad dream. She had begged me to tell everyone that her brother was innocent. Then she disappeared into the car, like in some cliched cop drama.

Then I had heard the news, but it hadn't seemed real. Rae was dead. Brendan had been involved. More than involved. He had acted out his threats to her, ones he had made in broad daylight in the village, under the watchful eyes of a shocked gaggle of students. I had accepted it, because it made sense, in some ways. He hated her, had always hated her. She had risked turning his own son against him, the same son he spoke about with pride in his eyes, a lump in his throat. The same son who he had drawn closer to him when I had gone to him in the club, telling him I had decided to take the kids to Disneyland, to get away. It was like he had been trying to keep Declan from me, as if he needed protecting, like he believed something in me would do him harm. How could I not believe he would kill for his son, when he had acted like everything in the world was out to get him?

The rest of the girls...India, Bex...it was less clear with them, why he would go there. But the reasons existed, if you dug deep enough. India could have found out about him...how his multiple dates with her, his attempts to make her his fake girlfriend, were all for show. She could have threatened to reveal him. Bex...she tried to get money out of him. Brendan doesn't like being taken for a fool. I mean, we all don't, do we? But it's like he's intolerant to it, every part of him reacting to it, with force if necessary.

So there were reasons, that I had justified in my head. It was easier that way. We had broken ties weeks before. More promises which had led to nothing. Another punch, which I was determined would be the last. It was over. Him being some sort of...serial killer, a monster, someone who would be sick enough to bury girls bodies in the woods...it all meant I could finally let him go. It gave me a way out. It's amazing what you'll believe in, when you want to let go of someone.

Of course, it didn't quite work like that. Because as much as it made sense, it also didn't. At all. It just didn't add up. I didn't say this to anyone. Not Amy, who was making excuses for him - her, of all people. Not Cheryl, who was protesting his innocence to anyone who would listen, and was willing me to back her up. Not Lynsey, who was accusing the unlikeliest of people - a granddad, who'd dressed up as Santa at Christmas, who looked like he wouldn't hurt a fly. I kept my mouth shut, ignoring what I knew to be true. He had had to kill Danny. It was the first time, the only time he had ever crossed that line. We had spoken about it once, then never again.

Danny Houston. I had only met the guy a handful of times, most notably when we had all gone to the casino. I hadn't liked him. I could see why he and Brendan had been able to work alongside each other for years. They were both tough. Both had that way of intimidating people. They weren't to be messed with. But Brendan had this light, this switch that could sometimes be clicked when you'd least expect it. It would transform him. A smile. A laugh. A way of teasing you that could be playful, rather than vindictive. Danny would smile too, and laugh. But it was black. There was no switch there, no matter how hard you looked for it.

But I hadn't had any reason to believe that I was in danger then, with him. When Brendan had confirmed what Warren had told me, that Danny's death was down to him, I had imagined him acting out in anger, not stopping to think. A regret, not a choice. But the more I had thought about it, the more I had remembered the tears in his eyes as he had told me. The honesty of his words. His spoken need for me to be with him on it, to tell him it would all be okay, I guess. I hadn't told him. But after, I had thought about what I would do, if someone had threatened to hurt Amy, or the kids. Or him. These four things in my life, which were irreplaceable. Precious.

So yes, Brendan had killed someone. But he wasn't a killer, not to me. I knew it sounded stupid, and contradictory. But it felt like the truth. He had done it for me. I wasn't proud of that fact. It had to be a secret, something between me and him. And Warren, who had found out somehow, although he seemed separate from us, because surely he didn't know the desperation you had to feel to do something like that. He killed his own fiance. Everyone knew it, proof or no proof. He had killed love. Brendan had done the opposite in some ways. He had killed for me,_ for_ love. It wasn't better. Death wasn't some sort of twisted competition to me. But when I put it like that, it was laid out in terms I could understand.

But still, it was easier to stay quiet and say nothing. Believe that the right man had been arrested.

Being outside Chez Chez like this again, more and more people joining the crowd already gathered, it brings me back to that time that I'd rather forget. I failed him. I didn't believe in him. I know it, and he knows it, and its hung in the air ever since, like dust that's clouding both our visions, stopping us from seeing each other like we used to.

This could be my second chance. If he's in some sort of trouble, I can't just walk away, turn my back again.

I decide Nancy's my best bet to get information from. She may have temporarily questioned her skills as a journalist after Silas, but she can't resist being the first on the scene, the one in the know.

"What's going on?"

She looks up for a second, long enough to register my presence next to her, then goes back to writing.

"The club's been broken into."

She says it like she's reporting on today's weather. I wish I could steal her calmness, her lack of panic, because right at this moment I feel like Terry is here all over again, reining blow after blow on me.

"It happened this morning, apparently. Around four o'clock. The place is completely trashed."

_Trashed. _I think of beer bottles lying on the floor, glass scattered everywhere, alcohol spilled over the surfaces. The desk in the office, tipped on its side. The desk that Brendan sits behind...

Oh God.

Brendan.

"Was anyone inside at the time?"

Nancy continues scribbling in the notepad.

"Nancy!"

"What? Oh, sorry Ste, I don't know -"

She doesn't know? What kind of journalist is she? Who cares about the damage to the place, who cares if some drunk students have to find a new club to fling their cash at?

Who fucking cares about any of that?

Rhys, Cheryl, Brendan...if anythings happened to Brendan...

I run upstairs to the flat. This time, there is no police tape to stop me. Brendan is not the one accused. The roles have been reversed. I think of him, suddenly startlingly fragile, at the barrel end of a gun, the tip of a knife, at the mercy of a man's hands, which I know from experience can do enough damage on their own.

Please God, I know I've never really believed in you before. I probably don't deserve to have you listen to me, let alone ask you to do something for me. But please, let him be okay. I'll do anything. I'll try to move on. I'll try to stop loving him. I'll even try to accept that he's with Doug, even if every part of my mind and body screams at me to reject it. Just let him be okay...

I hammer on the door. I expect it to be opened by someone in uniform, who tells me to sit down, with Cheryl at my side, crying silently.

Instead, it's her who first appears. She offers only a tiny space between the door and the flat, giving me no glimpse of what might be waiting for me inside. But her face gives me an idea. Her hair is pulled back into a bun, but strands falls loosely, having escaped from the confines of the hairband. It gives her a wild, disheveled appearance, as if she has just woken up after spending the night sleeping at an odd angle. There is no trace of her usual carefully applied makeup, but it is not this which leaves her complexion looking so pale. She looks like she's in shock, a contrast to the lively, animated woman who I have come to call my friend.

"Brendan..."

I expect her to erupt into tears and gulping sobs at the mention of her brother's name. But my words seem to leave her cold, and instead she merely opens the door further. My view is no longer obscurred, and instead of the police I imagined to see waiting for me, the sight of the man I had thought I'd lost fills my vision.

I nearly forget about the boundaries that exist between us, the unavoidable fact that he sacked me, that he kissed another man, probably gaining some satisfaction from the knowledge that I was watching. I almost forget that he left me at the hospital, that he did not come back to visit me like he promised, that he has probably thrown away the jumper that I gave him, wanting to get rid of anything that was a reminder of me. That he is with Doug.

He once told me that I am weak. He was right. My feelings for him make me feel like I can do anything, that with him by my side I am strong. But alongside the invincibility that comes with loving Brendan Brady, there is the sense that I am breakable. That his words could sear into my skin, that he has the power to destroy me. It is my awareness of this very hold he has over me that stops me from walking over and kissing the very breath out of him.

"I heard about the club..." It's all I can manage to say.

"Come in, then."

Cheryl closes the door behind me, and I am hit by the fact that this is the first time I have been in his flat since before he was in prison. It feels wrong being back here like this, knowing about all the things we did together here. The arguments we had, the making up we did. How is it possible that one place can have seen so much, can hold so many memories?

I sit on the sofa next to Cheryl. I wonder if Brendan will move to be closer to us, but he stays seated at the table, staring straight ahead. I scan his face and what little of his body is unclothed, to see if he has any marks or scars. His face and body are as clear and as perfect as the last time I saw him. He looks tired, but somehow all the better for it.

I remember the one night we spent together at a hotel, when I was just learning about the things he could do to me, the things I could do for him. I had watched him as he slept the morning after, after a night spent mostly awake. I knew he would be mad if he woke up and caught me looking at him like this. He'd tell me I was being creepy, sentimental. Demand for me to stop staring like some lovesick teenager. But this was my only chance to look at him still like this.

Usually he was always...moving. His hands in the air when he wanted to impress a point to me, his eyes going from my own to my lips constantly, as if he could never decide what to rest them on. But there he finally was, looking more at peace than I'd ever seen him. Even in sleep, he was fucking gorgeous, irresistible. Just staring at him made me want to lift up the covers, leave a trail of wet kisses down his chest, continue where we'd left off. But I wasn't sure if he'd allow it, if it was within the bounds of what I could do, so I'd settled for lying back on the pillows, my eyes tracing across his features instead, confining it all to memory.

Eventually, he'd woken up. I saw him stirring, and I'd closed my eyes, put my best sleeping face on, making sure that my chest would rise and fall at appropriate intervals.

He hadn't bought it, though.

"Stephen..."

Just the way he said my name sent a thrill down my spine, heat to my cock.

I concentrated very hard on keeping my eyes closed.

"How long have you been awake, Stephen?"

He began to lightly brush his fingers against my neck, in a tickling motion.

That undid me.

"Okay, okay, stop! Stop!"

I couldn't keep myself from laughing, my eyes wide open. He had grinned triumphantly, his fingers instead cupping around my cheek, which I had no complaints about.

"What gave me away?"

I hoped the way he was stroking my face was an indicator that he wasn't angry at me.

"I know you, Stephen."

He didn't say anything else. He looked at me, in that strange way of his, that made me think, even then, that there was more to this for him. That it wasn't just about winning some sort of competition, in which I was the prize. That he was just as buzzed about all this as I was.

Then he had kissed me, softly. But I had broken away, laughing.

He had drawn back, his forehead crinkled in annoyance. I had a feeling that he was trying to do some of his best work here, and I was ruining it. It only made me laugh harder.

"What? What is it?"

He searched my face, as if desperately trying to find the answer there.

"It's just..." the laughter came thick and fast then. "You have bed hair..." He frowned. "And your eyes...you look like you've not slept in days..."

_That's me_, I'd thought. _I'd done that to him._

"You don't like it?" He had asked quietly.

I had stopped laughing then. I looked at his face again, and this time saw how his hair sticking up like that wasn't only from him twisting and turning in his sleep. It was evidence of the way I'd repeatedly coiled my fingers through it, enjoying the sensation of the soft strands sliding through my fingertips. The small lines that had appeared around his eyes made him look vulnerable somehow, more human, where before he'd been God like, unreachable. It suited him, it all suited him. Made him more beautiful, more...mine.

"No. I like it." I had pulled him into a kiss, and then we had taken it from there.

I wish I could shut out this memory, keep it from invading my mind at the unlikeliest of moments. But at the same time, I want to welcome it, to cling on to it as if it is my oxygen, my only life force.

I try to force myself to concentrate on Cheryl, taking my eyes off Brendan, trying to block off the remembrance of what that kiss led to in that hotel room, away from the rest of the world.

"What happened? I saw Nancy - she told me someone broke into the club?"

"Yes. The police came here earlier. Some neighbours were woken by a disturbance. They didn't manage to see who did it -"

"It was Foxy." Brendan cuts through Cheryl's words, his voice devoid of any emotion.

"Warren? But he's in prison -"

"It was his men. His friends, from outside prison, if you can call them that. He wanted a favour, so he called them in ."

"Brendan, you don't know that!"

"The police found a statue of a fox in there, Chez! You don't need a bloody PHD to work it out. He wanted me to know it was him, so he left his fucking calling card!"

His words are alien to me, like something out of a Al Capone film. I have made a concentrated effort to stay away from all things Warren Fox ever since our last run in, when he wanted me to deliver a package for him. It wasn't something I ever wanted to get messed up in again.

"What got stolen?"

Now that I know Brendan and Cheryl are safe, the club doesn't seem so important.

"All the booze, including the stock in the cellar. The money in the till -"

"The money? I don't understand - why wasn't that put in the safe at the end of the night?"

Silence spreads out before us. Cheryl's cheeks turn a faint shade of pink. At first I think she must be embarrassed, but then I realise she looks angry. The angriest I've ever seen her.

"The whole place is wrecked, Ste. The CCTV was destroyed, so we don't have a hope of finding out who did it. Everything's been vandalized...they started a fire. It's going to cost us thousands of pounds just to rebuild."

"A fire? But it looked fine when I saw it."

"The fire department managed to get there before too much damage was done. But you haven't seen the inside. I have..."

She puts her head in her hands. I glance over at Brendan, whose closed his eyes.

"I'm so sorry." I pull her into a hug. "I know how much that club means to you...both of you."

It's not just them. I think about what Cheryl's told me. _The stock in the cellar. _The same cellar where me and Brendan...

I pull her back to look her in the eye. "It's going to be okay. You've got insurance."

The same silence engulfs us once again. I don't understand it, can't make sense of it.

"We can't take out insurance on this, Ste."

I stare at her uncomprehendingly.

"Brendan didn't lock up."

I look over at Brendan, who now sits with his arms wrapped around himself. It reminds me of when I was crouched in that alleyway, my arms wrapped around my legs, for warmth, for protection. He looks like he's battling against the same cold now.

"What?"

"Brendan was drinking at the club with Mitzeee after it had closed. She left, then he followed after another half an hour. He took the keys, but he didn't lock up. That's why we're not going to get any insurance. We can't claim a penny."

I am not imagining the bitterness in her voice.

"Why was Brendan at the club so late?"

I can't envision him staying there after hours, drinking with Mitzeee, of all people.

"Yes, why were you at the club so late, Brendan?" She turns to him, and he reluctantly faces her. "Tell Ste why you were downing all our booze. What could you possibly be trying to forget?"

"Stop it, Cheryl."

I have never heard them speak to each other like this, so full of accusations and fury. Cheryl has always idolized him, held him up as the standard for other men to aspire to. Even after she found out about us, she's never looked at him, spoken to him the way she is now. From the start, I knew how important their relationship is, how he would defend her against anything, how she was his to look after. It would kill him, if he lost that. I can't have him lose that.

"It was me."

They both turn to look at me, their surprise temporarily breaking through the hostile atmosphere.

"I forgot to lock up."

I don't know who is more shocked by my words. Brendan, Cheryl...or myself.

"Stephen." I hear the warning in Brendan's voice.

"I saw the lights still on at Chez Chez, and thought you must still be there, Cheryl, cleaning up. I wanted to help you." The words sound pathetic, as if I'm stumbling over them. But I will myself to continue. "Then I saw Brendan..."

_Downing all our booze_

"And he was drunk...so I offered to lock up for him. He went home, and I guess I just...forgot."

It's shaky, I know, but I will go to my grave swearing it's the truth if I have to.

"You forgot?" Cheryl doesn't bother to hide her skepticism.

"Yes. I'm so sorry."

I feel, rather than see, Brendan's eyes burning into mine.

"Why wouldn't Brendan tell me this?"

"He didn't want to tell you that he left the responsibility to me, when he said to you he'd do it."

The perfect lie, because it could easily be the truth.

"He's lying." Brendan's interruption leaves my words dying on my lips. "It was my fault."

It's the first time I've ever heard him say that out loud about anything.

But if he thinks it will stop me in my tracks, make me change my mind, then he is wrong.

"No. I don't want you to cover for me. I did it, Cheryl. It was all me."

Cheryl's not the only one who's angry now. Brendan stands up from his chair, his face contorted, his hands clenched.

"Stephen."

"Can I use your bathroom, Cheryl?"

She is taken aback by my sudden change of subject.

"I'll show you where it is, Stephen." Brendan's voice is like ice.

"Don't worry. I remember."

I run upstairs before he can stop me. I hear Cheryl's voice from down below, whispering, suddenly full of questions. Good. Not only will she prevent him from coming to find me, but it also suggests that I stand a chance of her believing me.

I know what I am looking for. I go into Cheryl's bedroom, moving as quickly as possible. I search through some bags lying discarded on her bed, before I find it. Her bank card. It's all I need.

I pocket it, and then spend a few minutes in the bathroom, so they don't suspect anything. I stand facing the mirror, staring at my reflection in the glass. It surprises me when I realise that the face staring back at me looks pleased. Triumphant. I feel guilty, after all thats happened. But not as guilty as I should be, considering I've just stolen my friends bank card. Because I know a way out of this. I know how to make it right.

I flush the chain, just to keep up appearances, and run down the stairs. Brendan and Cheryl stand in the hallway, Cheryl still looking confused, Brendan furious, his face rigid, set.

"I'm really sorry, Cheryl. For what I did."

She nods, dazed.

"I have to go. I'm sorry."

Before Cheryl can argue against this, I close the door behind me, before I can risk a glance at Brendan and he unravels the whole plan. There is no deceiving him. It's like he said in the hotel room. He knows me.

I feel as though a great weight has been lifted off me. I'll have to be quick, will have to rush to the bank and back before they notice a thing. By the time Cheryl checks her account, they'll be thousand of pounds richer. She'll look at Brendan the way she used to, with only love in her eyes.

I will fix this. I will fix him.


	12. Chapter 12 Brendan

Nothing in this life comes for free. I have learnt that over the years, the hard way. Every penny I've made, every business connection I've forged, its all come from my own creation, my own manipulation.

I wanted to get rid of Danny Houston. It was...essential. Not a choice, but a necessity. He had threatened something I cared about, something which had to exist in this world, in order for me to survive. So what was I going to do? Sit back and wait for him to magically disappear, turn invisible? Rely on Foxy to do the dirty work, when I'd barely known him back then, and wouldn't have trusted him even if I did? No. I had to be the one in charge, the one on top. It was the only way.

It's the same in poker. Is it all down to luck, chance, fate? Maybe some idiots rely on that, but to win, I mean to really win, you've got to play the game. Rely on your instincts. Know how to read people - the light sheen of sweat on a guy's brow, the slight shake of their hands, the eyes which dart from left to right - all signs that they feed to me, that they don't even realise, which make me win. I work for that. I earn it. Even when I once required the help of a willing and seemingly innocent young barman to take a sneak at the cards, you can't say I didn't put the effort in. And that's what counts, what separates me from the losers. No matter what the method is, if you achieve the desired goal, then it's worth it, right?

So when Cheryl finds thousands of pounds in her bank account, I feel a lump form in my throat, which can't seem to be dislodged no matter what I do. Cheryl's reaction turns from confusion to joy. It's not in her nature to find the answer behind what she calls a 'good deed'. When she tells me, I mentally count the seconds between her disbelief and when she starts jumping up and down, grabbing at my arms, trying to make me mirror her movements. It takes exactly forty five seconds, which is about fifteen seconds later than my estimate. Maybe my sister's getting more cynical in her advancing years.

When she takes note of my crossed arms, my refusal to join in on her celebration, she stares at me, mystified.

"Bren, did you hear what I said?"

Of course I did. That's the problem.

I can't even enjoy her using the affective nickname with me, after days of the cold shoulder and doors slammed in my face. She has not needed to speak to me to accuse me of anything, because her actions have filled in the blanks. She blames me for the club getting vandalised. She worked with Stephen for too long to believe that he would forget to lock up. He is reliable to her, solid. She has never seen him drunk. Compare that to the last time she saw me before Chez Chez got wrecked. Close to being pissed out of my mind, not wanting to speak to her. She knew something didn't add up.

"I don't think we should get ahead of ourselves."

She stills at my words, her smile freezing on her lips. I didn't want to have to do this again - spoil her fun, mess things up. But it needs to be said.

"Where's this money from, Chez?"

"I don't know...does it matter?"

"Of course it matters! Someone must have taken down your account number to make the transfer!"

"I've got my card with me, no one's stolen it -"

Which makes it worse, in a way. Underhand tactics, done without our consent, no trail left behind for us to track.

"Ask yourself this. Why would anyone do that? Give us thousands of pounds."

"They must have known about what happened to the club -"

"No, I don't mean that. I mean _why_? Why would someone give us that much money, for nothing?"

The warmth that seemed to encircle her before seems to have vanished in an instant. It's as if winter has come in, startling us both with its ferocity.

"Some people are actually capable of doing something out of the goodness of their own heart."

She emphasizes the words 'goodness' and 'heart', drawing attention to her belief in my lack of both. We are back to playing our old roles again, her head in the clouds, me having to rein her back in.

"No one's that good, Cheryl!"

Because they're not. There's always a catch, a hook, something in it for them.

My first thought is Mitzeee. I have seen her in the village, despite my attempts to avoid her. She looked at me as if we shared a secret. I wanted her to go back to haughty indifference, hatred, anything but pity. I've stared right through her, as if I couldn't remember a thing about our conversation that night - the things she said, the things I revealed which I'd barely even admitted to myself. Could it be her? Does she feel guilty about leaving me to lock up? Or is it something else, something that I said to her that night that made her want to leave me the money?

The problem is, it doesn't add up. Just a few weeks ago, she was begging me for cash. And the whole reason she came to see me last time was to secure a location for her shoot. If she was rolling in money, there's no way she'd use a nightclub to reestablish herself in the modelling world. Unless she's suddenly robbed a bank, it rules Mitzeee out.

Then there's Gilly. He dated Chez for a while, on and off. There's a chance he would have known her account number. It could be his version of an apology for leaving her. But how would he know about what happened to the club? It may be front page news in Hollyoaks, with journalists desperate to keep the momentum up after what Silas did, but in the rest of the world, it's barely going to be a blip on the radar. What would spread is the fact that he stood trial for what he did to Jacqui. With his reputation, the chance of him getting a job that would allow him to give that much money away is slim. Everyone else we know is either not rich enough, or doesn't give a shit.

I take the phone from Cheryl's hand as she begins to frantically dial.

"What are you doing?"

"We're not calling any contractors."

"We need to get the club running again. We can't use the SU Bar like last time."

"Then we'll wait."

"Until what? You get enough to repair the damage through some dodgy scheme?"

She's not wrong. I've been trying to decide between calling up Douglas to arrange another drugs deal, or going to the casino this evening.

"No. I'll take out a loan."

"We can't afford to do that. Look, if we use the money -"

"I'm not touching it, Cheryl. We don't know where its come from. No offense, but neither of us are that popular in this village. Someone's given us that money for a reason, and you may not want to find out what it is, but I do."

Just at that moment, my phone starts to ring. Cheryl look relieved. Saved by the bell. And someone must be on my side, because Douglas's name flashes on the screen. It may take me a while to persuade him to get back in the game, but mentioning Lynsey's name should do the trick. It turns him into putty in my hand.

I step outside the flat so we can speak in private.

"How's my favourite American?"

"Why does it sound like a threat when you say that?"

I laugh. "Is that any way to speak to your boss?"

There's a pause. "You're not my boss, Brendan."

"You're doing a job for me, aren't you? Speaking of which, I have another task for you..."

Before I'm able to tell him, Douglas being Douglas, he just can't keep his mouth shut.

"I have some news."

If I've learnt anything lately, it's that his news never tends to be good. I try to calm my rapidly beating heart down - what do you know Chez, I have one after all - and tell myself that it can't be any worse than last time. Unless...

"I've seen Ste with another guy."

Not as worse, then. Just...different. A different kind of pain.

"Tell me everything."

Fuck the money. Right now, I don't care if Cheryl rinses it dry.

"They're in College Coffee now. It's Ste's day off. He came in just for a moment, but then got chatting to this guy."

I imagine this bastard seeing Stephen for the first time. Doing a double take, as he registers the soft brown hair, the shaven sides which I have nuzzled my face against, marveling at the sensation. The lips which open to fit around the coffee cup. The hands which grasp it, smaller than mine, but firm, and always warm. Then Stephen's smile, as he registers the attention, flattered by it. The tips of his ears growing faintly pink, in that way that makes me want to run my fingers over them. Showing him that it's okay, it's okay to be nervous and embarrassed, because it's part of him, and he is...

"I'm coming now."

I cut off the call, silencing his beginning protests.

Adrenaline drives my footsteps forward, as I think about how I am losing him all over again. Can it really be possible, to lose someone so many times? If you get them back, can they ever really be yours again, or do they remain closed off, distant?

I lost him when I punched him, down in that cellar. I saw the tears drip off the edge of his nose, as his desire for me turned to confusion, fear, hurt. Shock, that I could do that to him. I'd hurt him before, when we first met. He knew who I was, right from the start. But when I kissed him, it was like he took it as a promise that we were done with all that, that we had begun something new.

It only took a week to get him back, make it up to him by fucking him so hard he could only respond with gasps and moans. But he looked different, altered somehow, even in that short time. A bit tougher. A smile still there, but vulnerable, looking like it could falter at any moment. So maybe I'd already lost a part of him, then. And instead of repairing it, of telling him that it wasn't his fault, that none of it was, that I'd sort it out, somehow...I blamed him. Kept on blaming him, because it had to be that way. It was the only way that it could work. Stephen was like some sort of fucking kitten, pawing at me, wanting me to want him back, rubbing up against me, purring when I threw him the slightest scrap of affection. It was too much. It suffocated me, when he looked at me with those eyes, in a way that Macca and Vincent had never looked at me. My own sister, my own kids, my own wife had never looked at me like that, like I was...I don't know, like I was special, even after all I'd done. Special to him.

So I did my best to beat it out of him. Strange, how after a while I began to miss it, him looking at me like that. Wanted it, like nothing I'd ever felt before. But he had stopped pretending that we could be fixed, like some broken leg or sprained ankle. What had once been enough for him - the kisses, tongues rubbing against each other, the sex, so good that I'd never known anything like it, and I knew he sure as hell hadn't - it was inadequate all of a sudden. He suddenly wanted something beyond all that. Promises, that I couldn't keep. People knowing about us. Open smiles, hand holding, any of the other fantasies that he had in that naive little head of his. And he wouldn't give up on them, wouldn't let them go. So I had to teach him to let go.

I should be able to take Douglas's news. Stephen's made it perfectly clear that while I'm not giving him what he wants, he won't give me what I want, either. After Noah, after the months of silence in prison, finding out about some guy chatting him up in a cafe should be nothing, something that I hear but don't feel.

I despise the way my body is reacting against me now, propelling me forward, my hands already curling into fists, ready to connect with this bastard's face. Get him off his feet and onto the floor, as far away from Stephen as possible. Because he is mine. He belongs to me. It is not possession, not obsession, not control, not power. It is beyond all that, above it, better. It's just the way it is. He is bound to me, inextricably, and no amount of time or distance or third parties can break it. That's what I wish Stephen would understand - that we aren't about romance or flowers or chocolates. I've done that before, with Eileen, and it didn't mean a damn thing. I couldn't turn around and go back the way I came even if I wanted to. Doesn't he realise that?

Douglas is already at the entrance when I arrive, looking round worriedly. I wonder why he even bothered to call me, if he was just going to try and stop me. Is he that afraid of me, that scared of what I'd do, if I were to find out that he held information from me? If he is, then he's wiser than I thought, because if Stephen had started seeing someone, taken someone back home...I swallow what tastes like acid at the thought.

"Step aside, Dougie boy."

It's a mere formality, because if he doesn't stop blocking me, I'm more than willing to make him.

"Think about this before you do anything crazy."

"Crazy - me? Don't know what you mean."

I put a stick of gum into my mouth, chewing it over as I weigh up the possibilities for dealing with this new guy in Stephen's life. A punch to the face, or to the stomach?

"This guy's done nothing wrong, Brendan."

Nothing wrong? He's trying to take Stephen away from me. That's reason enough.

"Ste's going to hate you if you do this."

Hate. Amy's words at the hospital come back to me. Stephen had said it himself, before I told him I loved him.

_It doesn't matter that you've never told me, how you really feel. It doesn't. Because I will always, always hate you now._

His hate, against my love.

Douglas must sense something in me, because he visibly relaxes, his shoulders falling.

"Maybe you should go."

"I can't." It comes out in a hoarse whisper.

"Then just...be normal, okay?" He says the words slowly, as if he's talking to a small child. "Sit down, order a cup of coffee, read the paper. Stay for hours, for all I care. Just don't cause a scene."

"For your sake, Douglas, I hope they make a mean cup of coffee."

He sighs, and relents in his defensive position, letting me step inside. It's lunchtime, and the place is crowded with sixth formers, eating loudly, speaking even louder. I want to part them like the Red Sea, so that there's a direct path to Stephen. But even with them around me, it's not difficult to spot him. He's on the sofa at the centre of the floor, and as expected, he's not alone.

For a moment, I stare in shock, thinking that Noah's come back. I take in the guy's black skin, his shaved hair, his lithe physique, the similar height, and feel like some nightmare's pressing down on me, that I'm right back to where I started. That there was no job in Newcastle, that there was no Sean, that he has been here all this time, and Stephen and I, in my flat, on that day, me telling him what I told him, him placing his hands either side of my face, hitting the wall with a soft thud, and reacquainting me with those soft lips of his, so soft that I was almost afraid of bruising them with my own, but pushing ahead and crushing mine with his anyway - what if that all was a lie? Some figment of my imagination, playing the cruelest trick?

A different kind of realisation hits me when I realise that the guy is not Noah. He is not anyone. A stranger who means nothing. But I cannot get rid of the feeling that we're back at the beginning. A different guy, but the same situation.

I walk over to the counter, where Douglas sits on the stool next to me, eyeing me warily. Tony stands behind the till.

"Get me a coffee would you, Tony? With lots and lots of cream."

He gives me a look.

"What? I like cream."

He grabs a cup and starts making it. I watch him, focusing on the methodical nature of it - the hot water, the milk, Stephen laughing as the Noah clone whispers something into his ear...

"How long does it take to make a cup of coffee..." I mutter under my breath.

"Give the guy a break, Brendan." Douglas rolls his eyes. "Making anything for you isn't exactly a relaxing activity."

I tap my fingers against the table, trying to stop myself from craning my neck again and looking round.

Tony places the coffee in front of me, and I dip my fingers into the cream and lick it off, one finger after the other. And it takes me back to a moment two years ago, just like that...

_We'd spent the afternoon in bed. It was the first time in ages, after months spent away from him, after his demands of dates in bars, as though we were just like everyone else. I had gone back to Ireland, and when I returned, he had been avoiding my calls. I had phoned once a day at first, because he sure as hell wasn't talking to me at work. Then it slowly increased to twice a day. I didn't want him to think I was...desperate, or anything. Because I wasn't. I could take it or leave it, really. It was nothing, either way. _

_Except...except lately, I didn't mind so much. Having him around, I mean. Sure, he usually talked too much, incessantly, going on and on about some film he'd seen the other night. Or about some drawing Leah or Lucas had done for him. Or Amy's love life, which for some reason he believed I'd find fascinating. But it was...I found I didn't dislike it. The sound of his voice, that Manchester accent, rough around the edges, but soft at the same time. I wanted to hate it, the things he said, because it was all pointless, really. But I couldn't help but enjoy how animated he got over everything, like he was experiencing the world for the very first time. I couldn't not stare at the way his lips curved into a smile, those perfect fucking lips, and the way he walked, shuffling, like he didn't think he was worth taking up space. _

_So then the calls became more...frequent. And every moment of silence affected me more and more, until winning him back became some sort of task. The most frustrating task I'd ever known, worse than getting him in the first place, because I hadn't known then, the things he could do, the sounds he would make when he was cumming, the look on his face when I hit the right spot, the contented sigh as he lay in bed beside me afterwards. It was like someone was torturing me, giving me all that, then taking it away. So yeah, it was a task. One which had the most satisfying results I'd ever known. And I got those results in the end. _

_He had been propped up by pillows on the bed, his black socks still on, his boxers protecting his modesty - not that he had anything to protect from me now - the fuzz of his leg hair visible, his skinny chest covered by a striped blue polo. _

"_Gissa kiss."_

_He had looked at me, shock momentarily crossing his face. I repeated it, playful this time, showing him that it was okay, he didn't need to be on his guard with me, not right then. He hesitated, and then he kissed me, just like that. That's the thing about Stephen. He may have moments where he's afraid, where he draws back, unsure. But it lasts less than a minute, and then he gives himself to me, completely open, trusting, like that fear never even existed. _

_The kiss was short, at the side of my mouth, but there was still something about it. Something that only he could give to me. _

_I had brought us up coffees, then. Thought he might need one, after the rigorous activity we'd been doing that afternoon. Made them up hurriedly downstairs, because all I could think about was the fact that he as upstairs, in my bed. It was while I was taking the milk out of the fridge that I had seen it. The can of whipped cream lying on its side, left over from Cheryl's latest attempt to make what she viewed as a 'posh dessert.' _

"_Ta," Stephen had said, when I handed him his coffee. He blew on it, and I watched as his lips stuck out as he did so. His eyes drifted over to the can tucked underneath my arm._

"_What's that?"_

"_Whipped cream."_

_I saw his eyes widen ever so slightly. Cheeky fuck._

"_Do you want some, Stephen?"_

_He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. Funny, how I'd seen every orifice of him, seen things which would make Mercedes McQueen blush, and yet there he was, about to have a panic attack over cream. _

"_Um..."_

"_On your coffee?" I had to stifle a laugh. "Do you want some, on your coffee?"_

_He blushed, not from the possible innuendo this time, but from his embarrassment at what he thought the innuendo had been._

"_Oh right, thanks." He held his cup out, and I squirted some onto there, watching as the brown was displaced by a swirl of white. Stephen took a sip, and the cream transferred onto his nose. I laughed openly then, because he looked ridiculous, and I suddenly had this vision of him in a bath, surrounded by bubbles, which he lapped up around his face, giving him the appearance of some youthful Santa Claus. _

_He hurriedly wiped the cream away, but I saw a smile flickering on his face, and I didn't want to take it away. So I didn't. _

"_You don't do it like that, Stephen. You do it like this."_

_I dipped my fingers into the cream from my own cup, and licked it off, not taking my eyes off him the entire time. _

"_Uh, Brendan!" He acted all disgusted, but I didn't miss the dart of his tongue as he licked his lips. I knew that he was thinking about it, then. What my fingers could do to him, had done to him, the way they contracted inside of him, opening him up, preparing him. What other things we could do with that cream. Looking at Stephen, you might think he was naive. A bit of a chancer, yes, but harmless. Innocent, in so many ways. I knew better. I knew all the dirty places his mind could go to, that were anything but innocent. And I decided right then, with him watching me the way he was, sitting beside me in my bed, that I could have fun with this, right now. More fun than we were already having._

_I picked up the can of cream. _

"_What do you want me to do with it, Stephen?" I said it softly, just the way he likes it, that tone that can get me anything I want. And for all that he played dumb, he knew exactly what I was talking about. And he didn't even look away. He just took off his shirt, exposing the smooth skin beneath, that was lightly tanned in colour. Shit. I had never seen anything so...he was making me act like someone I wasn't, someone I had never been. Making me feel..._

_There was a moment when he stared at me, with this look like he was searching for my approval, my permission for him to act. Even after everything that we'd done that afternoon in this flat, he was still waiting for me to give him the answers, because that's what my rules had dictated. I could have told him that I'm the one who starts everything and ends everything. But instead, I found myself nodding, because for once, it was easier. It was easier to just let him do what he wanted. What I wanted. _

_He leaned forward, and kissed me. I had planned for it to be short, so I could pull him off, and then take over, so I would be the one driving it. But it didn't quite work out like that. He put his arms around my neck, deepening the kiss. Immediately his tongue found mine, and my hands clawed at every part of his body that I could get access to - his back, his chest, his hair, his neck, his legs. I couldn't imagine a time when I would ever feel like I'd had enough of him. _

"_Lie down." It almost hurt to have to break away from his lips to speak._

_He was on his back in an instant, and I could see his cock was already straining through his boxers. He looked at me through glazed eyes. I picked up the can of whipped cream, taking off the cap. _

"_What are you doing?"_

_A laugh escaped my throat. "You know exactly what I'm doing. You've known ever since you first saw this." I motioned to the cream. _

_He looked up at me, then nodded. Granted me the permission I'd granted him. _

_I squirted some onto his stomach. He winced from the cold sensation of it, but didn't stop me. I drew a trail from there to his cock, then tossed the can aside, and surveyed the beautiful mess before me._

"_I look stupid," he said, mistaking my scrutiny for judgment._

"_No, you don't. You look hot."_

_It was the first time I had ever said something like that, and it didn't go unnoticed by him. You'd think it was the first time anyone had paid the lad a compliment, the way he smiled like all his Christmases had come at once. I remember thinking what a waste it was, all those years he had probably spent feeling like shit, like he was nothing, when he was everything. That day, I wanted to show him that he meant something, that he counted. And I knew a good place to start._

_I lowered myself down above him, propping myself up by my elbows. And then stuck my tongue out, and took the cream into my mouth, allowing his golden skin to reappear beneath it. I didn't know what tasted better - the cream, or him. I heard him giggling above me, making his rib cage jerk from the movement. It should have been annoying, but it wasn't. It was just...him. But there were other sounds that I wanted to hear even more. So I finished licking up the cream, coiling my tongue along his stomach in a way that made him go crazy. Then I went lower, to where his cock stood, hard and beautiful. He arched his back in pleasure as I took him into my mouth, no longer laughing but instead making noises that I was pretty sure only I had ever heard, and twisting his hands in my hair. _

_And I remember thinking, it doesn't get much fucking better than this. And we didn't even need the cream anymore. We didn't need any props, or any distractions, or anything else other than this, right here, right now. Because it was as close to flawless as I'd ever known - Stephen in my bed, his cock in my mouth, after we'd been apart for months. All that time, spent trying not to think about him, but doing it all the same. That wasn't going to happen again. I'd make sure of it._

"Stephen."

He looks at me from his seat, the cup he's holding frozen in mid air. Is Noah the second really that interesting that he didn't even see me come in?

"Brendan."

I have missed the way he says my name. It has only been a couple of days since I last saw him, and I already feel like it's been too long. Shit. What has he done to me?

I look at his companion, boring my eyes into him. If I saw him at the club or anywhere else, I'd think he was alright. Good looking, even. But next to Stephen, his ordinariness becomes painfully apparent. The man I want to know everything about, sitting next to a man I don't want to know at all.

The guy just stares at me right back, like he's done nothing wrong, like he's a fucking innocent in all this, as though he's not trying to take the thing I want most in this world away from me.

"This is Sam," Stephen says. "Sam. this is Brendan. He is...he used to be my boss."

_Used to,_ because I fired him, because he tried to talk to me about prison, because he said he knew me better than anyone, because he gave up on me when I needed him the most.

"Brendan, Sam is -"

But I don't want to hear what he is. "So, Samuel," I cut in. "Never seen you in here before. In fact, I've never seen you at all."

"Brendan!" Stephen says, in that theatrical, outraged way he likes so much. I don't know what he's going off on one for. I thought I was putting my best polite voice on.

"What? Just trying to find out more about Samuel here, Stephen."

"Stephen?" Samuel looks between us, amused. "I thought you said you're called Ste?"

"I am -"

"He's not -"

"Okay..." Samuel says slowly. "So...shall I call you Stephen too?"

"No!" Stephen says, loudly enough for some of the sixth formers to stare in our direction. "I mean," he lowers his voice. "It's kind of just what Brendan calls me."

I stare, amazed. Did he just say what I think he said...like it matters to him, like it's something just between us? He can't expect me to just walk away after that.

"Room for one more, boys?" I squeeze into the sofa between them, forcing them to break apart. The space is so tight that I find that my arm and leg are touching Stephen's, without me even having to try. Even through his clothes, he feels warm. Or maybe it's not him. Maybe it's us together, lighting up like a firework, impossible to ignore. I feel his body clench beside me.

"Cream?" I offer what remains in my cup to Samuel, who shakes his head, staring at me like I've suddenly turned purple and have sprouted wings. Then I turn to Stephen, offering him the same. I wonder if he'll remember. If his cheeks will colour, if he'll even let out a laugh, thinking back on that time. But he stares resolutely ahead, not looking at me.

"No thanks."

I shrug, faking nonchalance. "Suit yourselves."

Even when I've finished the coffee, I continue sipping at it, pretending there's more in the cup. It gives me something to do with my hands, so I don't do what I really want - reach out and run my hand up Stephen's thigh. Doing that in a busy cafe in broad daylight, surrounded by people, including Stephen's newest phase, would not be smart. But with his body pressed up against mine, it is not easy to control.

"So...you go for the whole bruised look do you, Samuel?"

"Excuse me?"

"Young Stephen's face. It's seen better days, hasn't it?"

Yes, that's right. I go there. To the place that even I never thought I'd go, because I am being a bastard of epic proportions. I have been trying to ignore the bruises which still lightly make a trail across his face, and yet here I am, drawing attention to them. Using them to my own advantage. I hate the words coming out of my mouth.

"Sorry?" I'll give it to Samuel - he has the decency to look shocked.

"Don't say you hadn't noticed." What the fuck am I saying?

Suddenly, I feel cold. The loss of warmth is almost painful. Stephen has moved from his place beside me.

"I've got to go."

I realise how small I feel, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm staring up at him.

Samuel mimics his actions, rising from the sofa.

"Shall I come?"

"No, thanks. I've got loads to do...but I'll be in touch, yeah?"

Be in touch? What is this, some kind of relationship now? Have they exchanged numbers, addresses, birthdays, things he's never shared with me?

Stephen can't get away fast enough. It's amazing how quick his skinny little legs can be when he wants to disappear. I've done that - he's trying to get away from me. Not for the first time, and knowing me, not for the last.

I give it half an hour, ordering refill after refill. Samuel moves to another table after Stephen leaves, clearly wanting to be as far away from me as possible. When he gets up to go, I know I can't sit still any longer, not if there's a chance he's going to see Stephen.

"Brendan." It's Douglas, again. How Lynsey puts up with him I do not know, because the boy's like a fly, forever buzzing round my ear, never leaving, no matter how much squatting I do.

"Whatever you're about to do -"

"What I'm about to do is go to work, Douglas. I've got a club to run, in case you hadn't noticed."

"A club that's trashed."

"All the more reason to sort everything out, don't you think?"

He's not buying it. "Ste seemed pretty upset when he left."

Does he think I don't know that? That I'm not fully aware that I caused it, that I keep on causing it, even when sometimes, I'd give everything I have to make him happy?

"I'm not talking about this with you. I don't need your permission to leave."

"Fine. But I'll be watching you."

Watching me? Does he think we're in some kind of spy film, or that he's my minder? Kid needs to learn his place. But later, not now. Like I told him, it's time to sort everything out.

It's strange, how once, not so long ago, I had thought of Stephen's flat as a wreck. Paint peeling at the edges, door nearly broken, toys cluttered round the place, dirty dishes in the sink. It became pathetically easy to break into, because the security was lax, to say the least. Now, I think I must be going soft, because the sight of it makes me feel better. It no longer looks torn down, broken. Its modest exterior conceals the life within, the family environment that Stephen's worked so hard to build. I don't know how I didn't notice it before.

I knock on the familiar door that I've knocked on so many times before. And I swear he can sense that it's me. Maybe it's my knock, loud and persistent. Or maybe he just knew I would come for him. There's not a sound coming from inside, but I know he's there. I just know.

"Stephen. Let me in." I hear the desperation in my voice, and try to moderate it. "I'm not leaving until you do." The sun's holding out. I can camp out all day if I have to. I'm about to reserve a spot when I hear footsteps in the hall. A child's voice.

The door opens, and Stephen stands there, baby Lucas at his side. Only, he's not really a baby anymore. It's been a while since I last saw him properly, and he's grown up in that time, in the way that my boys before him did, where one minute they're walking self consciously, bumping into furniture, the next they're confident, assured. The blond, downy hair is still present, though. The blue eyes still wide. He's just like his dad, in so many ways. Going to grow up to be a heartbreaker, this one.

"Where's the rest of the brood?"

"Amy took Leah out shopping. She should be back any minute."

He's lying. Stephen can't have reached the flat until a few minutes ago. Who would Amy have left the kids with, in the middle of the day? He's saying it to keep me away, as if I'm afraid of Amy, the big bad wolf.

"Can I come in?"

He clutches Lucas to him, as if shielding him from me.

"It's not a good time."

"I need to...I want to apologise."

He stares at me, cold. Then seems to make a decision.

"You've got five minutes."

Lucas begins to play around us as we sit opposite each other. Stephen looks down at his feet.

"Not going to offer me any tea, Stephen? A custard cream?"

He rolls his eyes behind those long lashes.

"You're not a guest."

I watch as Lucas pushes a toy truck around the carpet, not even giving us a passing glance. For all he knows, I'm a stranger. An intruder, like his dad clearly thinks I am.

"Not working today?" I ask the obvious.

"Tony's given me the week off. Until I feel better again."

"Did they..." I swallow. "Is he...locked up?"

"Terry?"

I nod. I can't say his name.

"Yeah, " he says quietly.

That animal should be dead. Stephen looks at me. Shit. Did I just say that out loud?

"I don't...I don't want that, Brendan. My mum...she wouldn't be able to live with that."

I can't bite back my anger. "She deserves it, after what she put you through. All those years she did nothing."

She should have been there for him. That's what you do, when you love someone. When you care about them. You shield them. Shelter them.

Stephen scoffs. "You're blaming her, after everything you've done?"

I don't have an answer to that. He lowers his voice, after glancing at Lucas.

"You once told me that you killed Danny to protect me. But you don't realise that the only person that keeps hurting me is you."

"Stephen -"

"I wouldn't even have gone to see Terry if it hadn't been for you!"

"What do you mean?"

He opens his mouth to say more, but hesitates. "I know you don't want me in your life, Brendan. But you didn't have to say what you said at the cafe today. Do you really hate me that much? Do I really disgust you that much, that you'd bring up my bruises in front of another person?"

No. I hate myself that much. That's why I have to ruin everything that's good, everything that matters.

"I know I look awful."

Is he kidding me? Did he really accept my words as truth? Does he honestly believe that I meant a single word? Doesn't he realise how fucking perfect he is, bruises or no bruises, scars or no scars? Or have I beat that knowledge out of him? Made all his self worth crumble into ash.

"You don't look awful."

"Then why did you say all that back there, to Sam?"

He doesn't understand, even after everything with Noah. He doesn't know how I'd do anything to be with him, no matter what it takes. The lowest of the low, the darkest place I've ever been. With him, there are no limits.

"He was flirting with you, Stephen."

"What?"

"He was out of line. Getting all up in your face like that."

"We were talking!"

"It looked like he wanted to do a lot more than talk."

Stephen looks like he wants to hit me over the head with one of Lucas's toy fire engines.

"And what would you care if he did? You sacked me, remember?"

And I've regretted it every day.

"You were the one who didn't want me when Eileen came."

One of the worst mistakes of my life.

"So why does what I do, or who I see matter to you?"

Because. Because I wake up every morning, hoping he'll be there, wanting to feel the sound of his breath in sleep, his chest rising and falling. Because he is always there, in the back of my mind, even when I try to force him out. Because I never envisaged a life with him, and now, I cannot imagine one without. Because the idea of him being with someone else, kissing him, holding their hand, fucking them, even just laughing with them...it makes me feel sick. It creates a knot inside of me. Because being with him is like being set on fire, but being able to breathe at the same time. My skin feels like it lights up from the smallest touch, but it's not an unpleasant sensation. It makes me aware of the blood moving around my body, my pulse quickening, my senses alert. I feel things when I'm with him that I've never felt in my entire life, with anyone else.

"I..." I look at his face, and could swear that he stares back with something like hope. "I..."

I always know what to say, what to do. At least I used to.

"I just don't want you getting hurt again, Stephen."

He leans forward. "But why?"

The spell is broken by Lucas crying. One of his toys has snapped, the leg having fallen off. Stephen immediately goes to him, scooping him in his arms, kissing his forehead and speaking soothing words. The sight of children crying always gets to me, makes me feel uncomfortable, as if I'm the one who's wounded, too. But with this particular child, it is even worse. His tears, the sounds that he makes...it is all to like his dad. It reminds me of all the things I've done to him, the tears that I've created in the past.

"You shouldn't be picking him up. You only got out of hospital a week ago."

"No one else is here to do it, are they?"

I slowly walk over to him. "Yes, they are. Give him to me. I'll hold him."

"What?" He crinkles his nose, frowning.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to drop him. I have held a child before, you know."

"Yeah, but..."

"Trust me. I have the magic touch."

He looks at Lucas, whose tears continue to roll down his cheeks. Then maneuvers him into my arms. I stroke his soft blonde hair.

"It's alright. It's all going to be alright."

Lucas begins to settle, his sobs turning to whimpers.

"How did you do that?" Stephen asks, his mouth open wide, like one of those gawping fish.

"It's all in the Irish accent. Solves everything."

Stephen laughs, and it touches his eyes, making them light up, sparkle.

"I hope he'll settle tonight. Amy's going out, so I'll be here with him and Leah."

So he's not seeing Samuel again. Not this evening, anyway. I grasp this information like a lifeline.

"I could come over." Fuck. What is it with saying what I feel out loud today?

I'm glad Stephen gave me Lucas, because if he still had him, I think he would have dropped him onto the floor in shock right now.

"Come over?" he echos.

"Yeah...you know, to help you with the babysitting. You can't be running around after them, not after everything that's happened."

"Don't you have better things to be doing?"

"No," I say, truthfully. "I don't."

"I'm not sure...if Amy finds out..."

"She's not going to, is she? I won't tell her, and you won't tell her, and unless Leah and Lucas start opening up about Uncle Brendan's visit..."

"I don't like lying to her."

"We're not doing anything wrong, Stephen."

His eyes look more blue than ever as he looks at me.

"Yeah, I mean, we're just friends. Right?"

Friends...the word sounds strange to my ears. Alien. I have never had a friend before. Peter was always more to me, even from the start. Lynsey's more like a sister. Stephen has been a lot of things...but never a friend. Never just that, anyway. I don't know if the word can be applied to us. If I can ever be friends with someone who I...someone who I want more with. But that's not what he wants to hear, is it?

"Yes. We're...friends."

He looks down, his eyes hidden behind a veil of lashes.

"Brendan..."

He plays with his fingers. It reminds me of the day in my office a long time ago, when he had aplogised for kissing me. The way he had stood in front of my desk, fidgeting with his hands, like some awkward schoolboy giving a presentation to the class.

"You will show up, won't you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"It's just, you don't exactly have the best track record...for sticking around."

He's thinking of the time at the bar when I ran out on him. The time when I didn't go on holiday with him, instead taking Declan with me. And all the other times in between and since, that I have let him down.

"I'll keep this promise, Stephen. This time, I'll stick around."

He nods, wetting his lips in nervousness.

I place Lucas on the floor, and he toddles off, looking like he no longer has a care in the world. It makes me miss my boys even more. I'm reminded of that feeling that you can take their pain away, that it can all be fixed. So much easier when they're younger, somehow. So much harder when they grow up.

Stephen shows me to door, and waves goodbye uncomfortably, like he doesn't know how to behave. Neither do I, if I'm honest. I settle for a gruff "see you later", then walk back towards the village without a second glance. I know if I look back, I will undo the work I've done, and kiss the living daylights out of him. Satisfying, yes, but not good when the only thing I'll get in return is a push to the door.

Walking up towards the flat, I am hit by a shock of pink hair, an array of colourful clothing. And a single word spoken: Ste. It's that Michaela girl, one of the many McQueens that populate Hollyoaks, leaving mayhem in their path. She's speaking loudly into her phone.

"Ste. Ste, you've been ignoring all of my messages. Call me back, yeah? I want to talk to you about the money." She hangs up.

Money? Is Stephen having some sort of financial difficulty?

"Pinkie." I stand in front of her.

"What did you just call me?"

"What was that you said about Stephen?"

"Er, eavesdropping, much?"

She's gobby, this one. Carmel was a walk in the park in comparison. A dim walk in the park, but still.

"Cut the small talk. Stephen - is he in trouble?"

"Trouble? No. More like the opposite." And I can see that she's itching to get it out, to whoever will listen. No prompting needed. "He's won the lottery!"

Not exactly what I expected.

"The lottery?" Excuse me if I'm slightly skeptical.

"Well, no, not exactly. But he might as well have done! He's rich! As rich as he'll ever be, anyway -"

"Stop with your babbling, pinkie. What's happened?"

"He got some cash off some rich relative. Thousands of pounds, apparently."

She takes in my expression.

"I know, it's mad, innit? Like something out of a film!"

"Which relative is it?" Everything I've learnt about Stephen's background, his childhood, has given me the impression that he didn't grow up rolling in money.

"Some uncle, I think. Anyway, it doesn't matter. What matters is that he's rich! I'm one of his best friends, of course, so I'm sure he'll want to share the money."

"Yes, he mentioned you so much when you were away."

She looks affronted. "Oi, you! You don't know all the history we've shared," she says dramatically. It doesn't hide the pound signs in her eyes, though.

"You were only his boss, and now you've fired him, anyway. What would you know about Ste?"

Looking at them together, I wouldn't have thought Amy and Michaela would have anything in common. Amy and her kids, in contrast to Michaela wanting to be in some wannabe rock band. Amy in her pyjamas on the school run, while Michaela looks like she shops at Clowns R Us. But now I see it, why they're friends. They both like interfering, sticking their noses in where they're not wanted, with their never ending questions. I decide to ignore this particular line of enquiry.

"If you're lying to me..."

But she can't be. I know that. She would have no way of knowing what Stephen having that money means to me. That I'm now pretty certain that that same money is sitting in Cheryl's bank account, having arrived just in time to bail us out. Chez's miracle, my nightmare, because nothing in this life ever comes for free.

So now I know. It's not Mitzeee, or Gilly. It's him.

But why?


End file.
